Anachronism
by dark.in.a.box
Summary: Hawke is at her wit's end when it comes to Fenris, and Xenon poses an offer she can't refuse. A miscalculation sends her into a past that is unrecognizable - will she take a step in the direction of understanding, or will she die at the hand of her lover?
1. Prologue

**Name: Anachronism  
>Pairing: f!HawkeFenFen**

_**Disclaimer: The original characters and setting belong to Bioware and no copyright infringement is intended when writing this story.**_

**Description: Hawke is at her wit's end when it comes to Fenris, and Xenon poses an offer she can't refuse. A miscalculation sends her into a past that is unrecognizable and foreign - will she take a step in the direction of understanding, or will she die at the hands of her own lover? Fem!Hawke/FenFen**

**Warnings: AU, adult situations, foul language (come on, it's **_**me **_**writing this!). This is rated M for a reason; I would ask that you don't read it if you aren't mature enough to handle the material.**

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><p><strong>-A-<strong>

**Prologue**

**-A-**

"_I'm...sorry. All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while."_

I scrunched my nose, attempting to banish the thought into the miniscule, rear part of my brain that housed the "this confuses the hell out of me" section.

The section of my brain that was admittedly, _alarmingly_, growing.

Not one for dwelling on such dour things, I thought it would be better to move past it all. Forgive and forget, make new memories, forget about an electrifying one night stand and try to resurrect a shaky friendship.

I didn't foresee that forcing our impromptu naked _soiree_ from my mind would be so…difficult.

Ever since Fenris had walked out of my bedchambers, our professional life had been troublesome - not even to _mention _our personal life, which I wasn't even sure we had after that night.

_That night_. The night where too much wine, pent up frustration, and sexual energy built and collided, blowing smoke in our faces. The night where I thought Fenris had overcome his prejudices in order to let himself be with me - but I was wrong, and I didn't know how. I knew that he didn't relish being touched, least of all by a mage - but I had imagined him getting over his aversion, seeing past our differences.

_Damn it all, I'm never playing drinking games with Isabela ever again._ I knew I would have never let him leave my home had I been in my right state of mind; I would have asked him to stay, followed him like a nuisance until he agreed to tell me _why _he was so damn conflicted. He hardly spoke of his time as a slave, and when he did his words were limited to curses against Danarius's name - how was I supposed to know what would trigger an inconvenient response from him?

In the past, we had supped together, spoken to each other (very little, but it had been known to happen), and I had even been in the process of teaching him to read. Now, however, I was unsure of how to be in his presence without feeling the fool.

I should have known that sleeping together would change things - but I had no idea that it would force my entire relationship with the man to plummet. It was a miracle that I could coax him from his decrepit mansion and out into the world of bandits and slavers.

I sighed, watching as my breath took form in the cold air, a ghostly white gas floating above my head and disappearing. My brow furrowed and I looked down, trying to mask my frown from my companions.

The things I did for my comrades surprised even me. Anders had pestered me until I promised to buy him a certain herb that he had found in The Black Emporium; an expensive herb that would help to heal a young patient's severed spine - delicate work that Anders insisted would require extra help. I didn't know much about healing, myself, or I would probably question this declaration.

Being a mage did not mean I was proficient in the healing arts.

Mage. Perhaps _that_ was why Fenris did not wish to be with me; he hated mages, after all. Could he not realize that I didn't _try_ to be an apostate? Not that I planned on prancing into the Gallows to tap Meredith on the shoulder with my staff, but I at _least_ attempted to be diplomatic.

Most of the time.

Well, some of the time.

Why did he insist upon _torturing _me?

"You can go home, you know." I tried not to snap the words at my comrades, the three unusually quiet people who dutifully followed me into the dark. "I do not mind taking the herb to Anders by myself before I head home."

Being followed every second of the day had ill effects on my psyche.

Maybe I was still uptight from Fenris's rejection; maybe I had grown tired from a long day of trekking.

_Either way, Marian Hawke is not in a decent mood._

"You never know what sort of trouble hounds the streets of Kirkwall after nightfall," my redheaded companion said, raising an eyebrow. Her pale face glowed in the dim lamplight that guided our feet downwards. "I would hate to leave you at the Emporium only to find you dead and stripped in a gutter by morning."

"Your mental imagery continues to fascinate me, Aveline," I said dryly, striding up to the entrance of the Emporium, eager to end the evening and go home.

_My bedding has never sounded so sweet._

"She's right," Fenris begrudgingly added from further behind. "Kirkwall is dangerous, even for one who braved the Deep Roads."

Passing the golem at the entrance, I immediately marched over to the dirt-encrusted trays that bore the magical herbs and roots Xenon had accumulated over the years. I had no idea how long they had been here, but I hoped they were still effective.

Trying to remember how Anders had described the herb, I combed over the selection, mildly distracted by my own thoughts.

"Why would you care, anyway?" I muttered to myself, lifting something green. It dyed my fingers an ochre color; I scrunched my nose and set it back down, indiscreetly rubbing my fingers against my robes.

"Because I do not wish to see you injured," Fenris said, startling me with the nearness of his voice.

I huffed, barely avoiding knocking over a coat rack.

I _thought_ it was a coat rack.

It may have been a staff.

"It doesn't matter, Fenris."

"It _does _matter," he said, his brow furrowing. "Your life-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," I barked, reaching out and yanking out the plant that best resembled what Anders had described.

"Then what are you talking about?" _If you cared, you wouldn't have shut me out. I don't even know what I am to you - not a lover, not a friend, not a rival._

I wasn't sure of anything anymore. I just knew that I was tired of my life being so complicated. I considered calling him out, demanding answers...

But that wouldn't do much for my pride, groveling like a starving animal. I would _not _grovel for answers, least of all from the proud elf. After all, I didn't care that much.

I didn't.

I _didn't_.

I shook my head. "Forget it." I pushed past him. "Just leave. You seem to be good at it."

Fenris groaned, and annoyingly, I could _feel _his consternation. "You do not understand." I heard him inhale, and then sigh. I could not hear his footsteps, but I knew that he had left my side.

_Again._

Why could we not sit down like adults, and discuss this..._thing_ that went on between us? There would be no denial of my attraction for him, but for all the love of the Maker, I could _not_ put up with this...this _wall_. He was confusing at best, oxymoronic at worst. I began to wonder if he even had a _clue _of what he felt.

"_I don't wish to see you hurt_,_ but I'll break your heart if you attempt to grow close to me. Good luck trying._"

_Maker damn you, Fenris._

Even the Fenris in my head frustrated me.

Angered, I dropped my coin onto the table and glared at the golem in the corner, daring him to challenge me.

_You don't care, Hawke. You don't care._

"Something troubles you," said Xenon from his chair. "Is there something you search out, here in my...collection?"

"Have a potion that cures confusion?" I answered a question with a question, ambling over to stand in front of the old antiquarian. "I could have a drought."

"Not a potion, I'm afraid," he said, voice booming across the walls. I searched his - was that even his face? - for any movement, but saw none. "I do carry a rock, however." He gave a chuckle, as if this amused him. "Urchin!" he cried. "Fetch the stone I speak of."

"That's unnecessary," I said to the creepy antiquarian. "I will have to figure it out on my own or move past it."

_Some things are more important than my romantic troubles - like the Qunari, maleficar, and the ever-pesky Templar worries._

Not everything is about you,

I reminded myself, pressing my lips together.

"Oh, but this will help you," Xenon insisted as the urchin boy returned, bearing a funny looking rock in his hands. It didn't resemble anything that would ever grow in the ground; perhaps it was some sort of gem, better found in a cave. It was green, and glistened in the muted light of the Emporium, a subtle beauty in a rotting atmosphere. "Whisper your confusion into it, and it will help you find your way."

I smiled, knowing it would probably help, but also knowing it would be foolish to waste money on something I should do for myself. "I don't believe I have the funds-"

"For no charge," he said. "One time usage, Mage." The boy held it out, and I stared down at it. It twinkled up at me, a muted darkness roiling in the depths of it. He held it out as an offering, so I conceded and picked it up, examining it closely.

It was no bigger than my palm; I rolled it around, watching the morphing light glint off it in a spectrum of greens.

"Hawke," Aveline called from where she stood, perusing the artifacts. "It is getting late – I have duties in the morning."

"One moment," I returned, still thoughtfully watching the small jewel. "And I just...whisper to it?"

"Whatever you like," Xenon said.

"It will help?" I asked suspiciously, still unsure. "It won't, say, set me ablaze or transport me to the moon?"

"Unless those are two of the things that confound you, then no."

_Hmm_. "I'll endeavor not to be vague, then."

Walking away from the ancient man, I placed the shiny object against my lips, feeling foolish.

What _confounded _me? Fenris. Everything Fenris. I wanted very badly to care for him, but he responded to every advance I made with two steps backwards and yet refused to sever his hold on me. It was a cruel dance, one neither of us were willing to quit.

It would all help if I just...knew.

"I want to understand him," I whispered earnestly, closing my eyes as a sudden light-headedness overcame me.

"_Hawke!_"


	2. ACT ONE 01 Slave

**Disclaimer: This game belongs to the peeps that made it.**

**Quick A/N: Thanks for your reviews; they are my own personal pep-talks that got me through the chapters I've been writing. I had this idea in my head midway through **_**EG**_**; it feels great to finally be getting it out, but it's a real pain in the ass to tie together.**

**Whatevs. Suffer for passion, and all.**

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p><em>The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time. <em>

** Abraham Lincoln**

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><p><strong>ACT I<strong>

**THE PARADOX**

**01: Slave **

**-S-**

The world was awash with gray.

From the cobblestone streets, to the overcast sky, to the people rushing down the thoroughfare in a variety of heavy, warm clothing. I envied them as I tugged the hem of my gray smock down my legs, trying to recover some vestige of warmth within the freezing air.

Everything rocked with the pattern of the wheels; one had to be larger than the other, causing the cart I was trapped in to wobble. Something kicked me in the side and I fell over, groaning and clutching a new bruise.

"Sorry," came the whispered, frantic words of a boy. I sat up again, my eyes watering as I rubbed my tender skin.

_Hello to you, too._

There had to be half a dozen elves in the cart; all were dirty and malnourished, all dressed as indecently as I. My legs chilled in the frigid air, raising my flesh and making me shudder. I glanced upward at the hidden sky, my sight marred by wrought iron.

We were in a cage. Bars surrounded us, locking us inside. I examined my surroundings beyond the cage - wrinkled buildings and shop carts dotted the edge of the road, and hundreds of people clogged the street with their wares and offers.

The world halted its rocking; people continually rushed by, their tailored coats and robes mocking us. Gooseflesh ran up my arms, and I shivered, confused by everything from my surroundings, to my clothes, to the off-season weather.

"How did I get here?" I asked, earning panicked looks from the elves around me. They shook their heads, held up their hands.

"Speak softly," said a low, rasping voice from beside me. I turned to find an aged, fair-haired elf, who patted the space beside him. I scooted to his side and he wasted no time in pressing his cracked lips directly to my ear. "We are to be sold in the market."

"Sold?" I asked, not entirely comprehending. "I can't be _sold_." Dubious, I glanced around at the sallow faces, hoping someone would chuckle and deny the batty elf's claims.

None spoke up, only stared at their hands.

I blinked. I couldn't be sold, could I?

There was no way that we could be legally sold in a market. If he was using the word _sold_like I assumed he was, then he was talking slavery.

Which was illegal.

Everywhere.

And where had my nice clothes fled to?

The wizened elf shook his head, placing a calloused finger over my mouth. "If you want to live, you will be quiet," he said. "You have a better chance of being bought than the rest of us," he informed me grimly. "I would take the odds you are given."

I glanced around at the elves with me; there were a few children, a few women, and then the man at my side. "I am not a slave," I whispered, looking up into his green eyes.

_I'm _not_ a slave._

"You are now."

I ignored him, huddling into myself for warmth. Unfortunately for me, my new wardrobe consisting of gray rags barely protected me from the harsh temperature. "Where are we?"

Kirkwall was no Golden City, to be sure, but this place was decidedly worse.

"The market," the old slave said again.

_Old bat_.

I shook my head, pursed my lips. "No, where _are_ we? What nation?" It didn't _look_like Kirkwall, and throughout all my years in the place, I was sure I had laid eyes on every street. Perhaps I had found myself inside of Ostwick?

"Vol Dorma," the slave said, his voice full of pity. Pity for me. Why?

"Lowest slave going at five copper," the man said, gesturing to the cart where we huddled.

How in the world had I gotten here?

I remembered the dark and dank; a scratchy voice telling me to whisper to a pretty gem, a gem that was flecked and resembled _his_eyes, and I remembered telling the stone that I wished to understand him.

How the hell did the gem get _this_out of a simple plea?

I would have rather been set ablaze. At least then everything would still make sense.

_Maybe you should have been more specific..._

I rolled my eyes at myself. _You think?_

On top of all this nonsense, I was going insane.

I turned my back to the man auctioning me off to a disinterested crowd, wondering what the gem thought it would accomplish by sending me to...wherever I was. Perhaps it hadn't; perhaps I had merely been knocked cold in the Emporium and this was all an elaborate dream.

Resisting the urge to pinch myself, I looked up at the elves sitting resigned in the cage. I wondered how they had come to be within the confines of the iron bars.

Hopefully none of them had similar experiences.

...and that made me wonder.

I almost leaned over to the boy that had kicked me in the stomach to ask, "_Hey, have you by any chance been talking to a rock recently? Because something strange happened to me recently__..__."_

I doubted any of them would laugh.

Being an elf in a slavery-accepted society must be rough.

If this wasn't a dream, of course. I discreetly pinched my leg and jumped, rubbing the sore spot between my fingers.

_Hm_.

"You managed to catch a human slave?" tsked a woman. She was clad in brightly colored crimson robes, fit for a woman of importance.

Or a woman feigning importance.

I could not decide which.

"If you are caught..."

"I'll pay fifty silver for the woman," rang a male voice.

So my life had a price, did it?

"Human girl going at fifty silver," the slave master called, his callous voice disinterested. "Once, twice-"

"Seventy," the woman in red threw in; was she not previously worried about getting caught with a human slave?

A hypocrite as well as an attention-whoring snob. I bet my money on the man, if only because I felt the beginnings of a growing distaste for the eccentric woman.

"Seventy-five," another voice added, sounding bored. I sniffed.

He was bidding on my life and could not even bother to fake interest?

"Seventy-five for the girl going once-"

"Ninety silver," the woman retaliated. Her voice was thick; it reminded me of sickly sweet honey, sticky and woody.

_Come on, old man. Raise her bid._

The old elf beside me sighed, and I switched my gaze to him. "What's wrong?"

He gave me a half-hearted smile. "With all this commotion around you, we are unlikely to be bought."

I pursed my lips. How unfair; I hardly knew anything about servicing someone, yet I was being sold first because of my race.

Still, staying inside the iron cage did not sound appealing. And I wasn't garnering _that_ much attention; just the eyes of a few people. The others that formed the wall of bodies pressing past the scene hardly bothered to glance in our direction, their eyes focused on the road before their feet.

"Sold, to the Magister in red," said the slave master, his voice detached. "For ninety silver."

I blinked, and someone prodded me with a staff. "Get moving," dared the slave master. "Cause any trouble, and I'll beat you into the ground."

_Damn it__._

I grumbled and shifted, wrapping my arms around my chest. Unable to stand in the tiny cart, I stooped over, shielding my naked skin from the freezing breeze. I turned to correctly identify the woman who had bought me; she was wrapped elegantly in a crimson robe that ensconced her head, and brown eyes flashed when I met them with my own.

Arms grabbed my legs, tripping and forcefully dragging me from the cart. My back landed on cold, hard stone and immediately felt sore. I glared up at the impatient slave master as I rose to my feet.

"Come," called the woman, pointing to her side. It took all of my power to halt my eye roll before I walked over to her. "Let me look at you," she commanded.

How, exactly, was I supposed to follow that order? I did not understand how to _stop_ her from looking at me.

The man who had the bored voice chuckled blankly. "It seems you have caught yourself a rogue, Fausta." His beady eyes trailed down my body, lingering on my naked legs. He sighed. "Too bad for me, it seems. I could have used such a rebel."

I shuddered, sneering at him.

Fucking rogue, am I?

She tsked. "Scrawny, and too pale," she commented, grabbing at my face. I flinched away, and she slapped me across the cheek.

Again, it took all of my willpower to keep from kneeing her in the gut. I had to remind myself that I had no armor, no staff, and not even enough clothes to protect myself from the damn cold. I would need to behave myself.

"Learn your place," she said, brown eyes raking over me. "You will have to do," she said disparagingly, turning on her heel. "Follow."

That was an easy enough command to regard; I fell into step behind her as the Magister in Red glided down the street, her robes sweeping behind her. My bare feet patted hard on the slimy stone street, and I suddenly felt very empathetic with every elf that never worn a single pair of shoes in their lifetime.

A wayward foot stomped on my little toe, crushing it into the ground. I gasped as water fled my eyes at the sharp pain.

A few minutes later, I slid on some rotting food that had been dropped Maker-knows-how-long ago, nearly toppling over onto the Magister.

The food looked like fish.

Correction: It _smelled_ like fish.

Besides the obvious disgusting facts that came with being barefoot, I also felt the chill seeping into my bones from the cold street, shivering and rubbing my arms.

I wanted a pair of socks. Thick, woolly socks; the kind my mother used to make for my companions during the wintertime, when Anders' clinic chilled, Fenris's mansion's lack of appropriate insulation became apparent, and Merrill insisted on walking around Lowtown completely shoe-less.

I missed my leggings, too.

I followed the Magister as we pushed past the people in the market, and I had a growing fear that someone would recognize me.

"_Hey! That's the girl from Kirkwall! She killed my friends! Tie her up and torch the pile!"_

It was a long shot, but with my luck it was bound to happen. The crowd seemed to press into me with each step I took; I never lost the trail of the Magister, but my vision blurred as the different people brushed into me, pushing and pulling.

Too close.

There were heated bodies everywhere around me.

Taking deep breaths, I ducked beneath the shoulders of the people, keeping my head down.

"This way, slave," the Magister ordered with a glare. She stood beside a large black buggy that was pulled by handsome stallion, his mane trimmed tragically short to simulate a militaristic style. The door was already open; a tan-colored elf held it for the lady as she stepped in, and I went to follow her lead, but the door slammed shut.

The elf that had assisted her shook his head at me, grimacing. He said nothing, but grabbed my arm, pulling me to the front of the cart.

"Hello to you, too," I murmured as quietly as I could without the sound drifting into the clamor of the street. The elf sighed; his skin was dark, his hair black, his dress appropriate enough for an unfortunate coachman.

"You are no slave," he scoffed, equally as quiet.

"How can you tell?" I asked, not even denying it.

"You are untrained," he said, as if it were obvious. "My name is Kornyn."

"Marian," I responded. "What happens when miss High-and-Mighty back there finds out I'm not a slave?"

"She beats you until you learn," Kornyn said bluntly. "Keep your eyes to the ground and do anything she orders."

"Easier said than done," I griped, poking out my bottom lip.

_I'll be lucky if I don't torch the bitch before the week is out._

"Do not talk to another slave while in her presence," he said, shaking his head. "But you are human. She won't kill you for a first offense."

"How reassuring."

The ride was long, and silent, as Kornyn refused to speak to me when we pushed past the din of the Vol Dorman market and into the following town. There were many beggars; mostly elvhen, some human, all starved.

I foresaw a long trip ahead of us, and sat back into my wooden, hard seat. I had never missed the cushioned chairs in my estate so much, but there were more pressing matters on my mind than a seat cushion.

Vol Dorma.

A magister.

I tried to reconcile these two facts with the other knowledge in my head, but came up empty. Vol Dorma sounded like a Qunari word, but in the wrong dialect. It was cold enough to be Ferelden in springtime; not hot enough to be inside of Tevinter.

In my head, Tevinter was a place of extreme warmth; of robes and sand and mages.

A childish perception, but it suited me well enough.

"Where are we headed?" I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. Kornyn raised an eyebrow at me.

"The Magister's abode," he returned, just as silent.

"Which is in..." I lead him, inclining my head.

"Perivantium," he said. "Outside of Minrathous." The word seemed to hang in the dry air beside us as we steadily traveled east.

Tevinter. I was in the Imperium - or heading that way. I looked around for a recognizable sign, something that would enforce the elf's answer, but found nothing distinguishable other than a sea of faces treading in the opposite direction.

"Why are they walking away?" I asked, observing each face for a sign. A recognition. In dreams, weren't you supposed to see people you recognized?

"The war has caused many to flee," Kornyn answered. "The Qunari search for weak points within the capital daily, and Minrathous is full of wandering refugees." He shrugged. "It should not affect a slave, so try not to worry about it." He shifted the reigns. "Now stop asking questions. You will get us both into trouble."

Refugees. They could not possibly be all refugees - there were too many to count. Grim-faced, ragged, all races. I examined them all, wondering why I couldn't have identified the look of them sooner.

After all_, _I had been a refugee once.

I also noticed that the farther we traveled on the stony roads, the warmer the climate became. It thawed my joints and I popped my knuckles, loosening their hold around my stomach and welcoming the change in temperature.

The sun poked out from behind the clouds, twinkling across our path. The refugees thinned.

"There must have been a recent movement," Kornyn muttered. "I haven't seen so many wanderers in a while."

I said nothing in return, just stared at the heated pathway. Eventually, the clouds dispersed and the sun shone brightly, turning the stone pathways into blistering highways that made me nearly regret leaving the cold weather in the market of Vol Dorma.

I had already grown tired of the extremes in Tevinter, and I had not even been there long.

If I was even there.

I scratched my head, that thought tugging at my attention. I had never felt more mentally unstable in my life; I could have sworn that I had only been asleep for an hour or two, and a ship could not have carried me into Tevinter in such a short amount of time. I could not even remember being placed into the cart with the elves, or, or...

...anything before waking up.

This had to be a dream, even if it was peculiar and disturbingly realistic. I wondered what the gem had thrown me into; what purpose could this serve? Could I be learning how to be a slave in Tevinter to better understand Fenris?

If that was the case, then there _had_ to be better ways to learn this lesson.

Like a textbook.

Or a _How To_ten-step guide.

It was official: Xenon was insane. Whoever would collect such a useless artifact _had_ to be barking mad.

Hours passed, and the cart bumped and jostled as we reached an unstable, winding path; soon, a mansion came into view, well past the town proper and surrounded by sparse, sun baked trees, giving the allusion of privacy.

It was imposing, for certain, but had an elegant, feminine flair in the architectural design that softened the overall effect. Its peaks were rounded with a hint of rain-washed color, nearly coppery. I could not tell for certain; the sun bore down on the glinting surface, unrestrained by clouds, and subsequently kept me from recognizing the exact shade. Still, the mansion was quite eye pleasing. My new Mistress seemed to have good taste.

Glaring red robes aside.

We stopped at the entrance; I hopped off, prepared to help the Magister out of the cart.

_I_could be a good little slave, too.

Though, if I thought about it, that was not exactly a positive thing. I opened the door for the Magister, holding out my hand for her to take; she grasped it tightly in her own, her staff held in the other, and stepped out.

I smirked at Kornyn when he flashed me a warning glare.

The Magister ascended the high steps to the mansion, her robes trailing behind her. I moved to follow, only to be hissed at by Kornyn. I turned a baleful eye to his sharp face, raising my eyebrows in an exaggerated _'what?'_

He just shook his head, grimacing, and left me to fend for myself. He drove the cart away to a stable, where I presumed he would care for the horse.

_Stable boy._

I ran up the stairs to catch up to the Magister, the stone unforgiving beneath my feet. The doors gave way of their own accord, and I wondered if she employed some sort of magic - or was it slaves?

I rolled my eyes to myself, hoping that I would not be stuck by a door all day, waiting for her passage. The entryway of her home carried the same heat that the outside temperatures bemoaned, but I chalked that up to its charm.

Every evil mansion _had_to have a harsh temperature in it, or it would not be quite as evil.

I vowed to myself that I would blend in with this atmosphere as seamlessly as I had in Kirkwall until I figured out why - _how_ I was there to begin with.

That could not be too difficult, could it?

"Svanna," the Magister summoned, her voice bouncing from the high walls. I raised my eyebrows at the height of the ceiling as I stepped into her foyer, appreciating the airy structure and bright colorings of the walls, as well as a few choice paintings that added character.

_Pretty_, my inner feminine voice swooned. I beat her back with a belt, glaring internally for good measure.

"My Lady," an elegant elf addressed, stepping into the room. Her dark hair was held in a harsh knot on the top of her head, leaving her face blunt and exposed. Orange eyes fixed on me, emotionless, appraising.

"Instruct her on her place," the Magister said dismissively. Svanna bowed - low enough to be respectful, but without falling on the floor. I archived that observation for later use.

"As you wish, Mistress."

The Magister left the room, her stiletto boots making a sharp clicking sound with each step. Svanna waited until she had departed to confront me directly.

"You are no slave," Svanna said immediately, dark skin tightening around her mouth.

"If people keep telling me that, my ego is going to drop profoundly," I pouted.

She ignored my sarcasm. "You will learn your place," Svanna said, orange eyes blazing into me. "You will not kill another with your ignorance. Are we clear?"

Ignorant, was I? I nodded tersely, trying not to cross my arms in defiance. Good slaves were not defiant. "We are."

"Good." She promptly turned and left the room, her brown shift waving after her. I followed her through the door, down a hallway, and into a kitchen.

"After every meal, you will wash the utensils and plates," she instructed, pointing to the basin. "Refill the water when you finish. The well is behind the house."

That wasn't too bad.

"You will also mop the floors in each room that is not predominately covered in carpeting," she continued, and I hesitated.

How many fucking rooms were there in this mansion, again? "Uh, about that..." I began, and the elf sighed.

"Do not speak unless otherwise directed," she warned, glaring. "I will make sure you get a tour of the entire building before dinner, and as for now..." Her orange eyes flickered to the door, and I turned as a young elf entered, carrying a load of dirty dishes.

Dirty dishes that I would wash. I sighed.

"Your name?" The stewardess asked; I snapped my head back to her. Her eyes were cold as they examined my face.

What to say?

_Uh, yeah, hi. I'm Marian Hawke - I suppose you have heard of me, whether it was of my exploits in the Deep Roads or my valiant fight against the Qunari...or perhaps it was something else? Like how I had my companion rip the hearts out of Tevinter magisters at his whim?_

Hmm. Bad idea. Tempting, though.

"Your name?" Svanna's hand jerked my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze.

I scowled up at her. "Marian," I answered, cheeks puffing.

"Marian," she repeated. "Wash the dishes. The soap is in the cupboard." She exited the room through the opposite door and left me standing in the kitchen with the wide-eyed elf boy. I watched him carefully as he lifted the plates onto the counter, peeking surreptitiously over his shoulder to stare at me.

I wagged my fingers at him. "Hi."

His face turned a shocked white; he ran from the room, stumbling over his own feet as he went back the way he came. I rolled my eyes at his frightened behavior and set to counting the doors in the room.

The kitchen was huge, with several islands and wood burning ovens for preparing large amounts of food. There were five doors in total; one swinging door that the boy had entered and left through, the door I had entered that led down a hallway to the foyer, the door Svanna had left through as well as one more on the opposite wall. I contemplated the fifth door before deciding it was a closet of some sort - really, what sort of room needed five entrances?

I grumbled beneath my breath and turned to the dishes. I had plenty of experience with dishwater and soap; as the eldest Hawke sibling, I was usually tasked with cleaning duty. Of course, people around my estate that assisted in the completion of the tasks certainly helped fuel my reluctance for such work, and I held no joy for the tedium of utensil washing.

Still, I was a slave now; slaves did as they were told. I picked up a clean dishrag and set to work on the fine porcelain plates and precious silverware, contemplating spitting in the washing basin for good measure.

I refrained, if only because of the beautiful craftwork of the dishes. Fine flowers had been delicately engraved into each piece, throwing a dash of color and a delicate character with filigree onto an otherwise pristine white background. I lifted a thin glass to examine the particular cut around the base, impressed with the work.

I kind of wanted a set for my own kitchen.

Banging from the swiveling door made me jump in alarm, obtusely releasing the gorgeous cup that I held. It shattered across the floor, hundreds of sharp pieces scattering near my feet.

I gulped, looking up to meet a highly disapproving, orange gaze.

"Oops?" I squeaked. I knew it couldn't be a good thing for a slave to smash a priceless dish.

Svanna lunged forward, her bony hand circling my wrist. She proceeded to drag me down the hall she had exited through earlier, footsteps hushed and hurried, face livid.

"Clumsy, bumbling human!" she chided, hand tugging mine firmly, causing me to stumble behind her. Continuing to spout harsh, accusatory words at me, she led me forcefully down the winding hall. To punishment?

I groaned. I hadn't even been there an hour and I had already smashed what was probably an expensive dish.

Strike that. It had most _definitely_been an expensive dish.

"Svanna?" whispered a soft voice. "What is happening?"

I turned my head and spotted a short, blonde elven girl poking her head from a doorway. She appeared to be the timid sort, with hesitant fingers and a thin mouth.

"This girl is to be whipped for breaking one of the Mistress's goblets," Svanna replied. "Go back to bed, Pana. This does not concern you."

"I will deal this punishment," inserted a strong, masculine voice. My heart stuttered as I recognized it, breath halting.

I gaped at the olive-skinned elf as he caught my free arm, towing me away from the stewardess. He glared at her hand until she released me, resigned.

"As you wish, guard," Svanna said, grimacing as she watched him lead me down the hallway himself.

I stared at the back of his head, trying to reconcile this odd elf that was _familiar _with the elf that I _knew_. His hair was dark, possibly black - I couldn't tell in the faded light of the mansion, but it was a stark contrast to what I was accustomed to seeing on his head. I blinked my eyes to clear my gaze as I took in his impossibly-normal clothes, not at all like the spiked, sinister armor he had worn the last time I had seen him.

He suddenly veered to the left, opening a door and pushing me before him. I tripped, but steadied myself before I hit the ground. I whirled around to face him, eyes wide, mouth open.

He narrowed his emerald eyes at my expression. "Why do you stare at me?"

I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly, recognizing his voice, if not his exact appearance. The markings, they weren't there - _none_ of them showed, not even the stripes that had lit his chin.

How?

Why?

And his _hair_!

"_Fenris_," I gasped, my hand reaching out to ghost across his face, to trace the absent patterns. "What are you _doing_here?"

His brow furrowed, and his own palm shot up, his fingers encasing mine tightly as they swept across his skin, halting my movements.

"Who _are_ you?"

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><p><strong>If you could go back in time and change something, what would you change?<strong>


	3. 02 The Stumble

**Disclaimer: I'm not hitting on you or anything, but this universe still isn't mine.**

**One reviewer said they'd go back in time to be rich in the future, another said they'd change all the effort they put into their high school years; if I went back in time, I'd tell Little Me to never, ever use the internet.**

**It's rotted my soul.**

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><p><em>No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.<em> - **Abraham Lincoln**

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><p><strong>02: Stumble<strong>

**-S-**

_Who are you?_

Who are you?

Who are you?

Life screeched to a standstill, the only thoughts left in my head being of the cool, dusty floor and the scent of sharp, potent ammonia in the stagnant air. My mind blanked for a moment, absorbing his echoed words.

"W-" I choked, coughing. "Excuse me?"

"Have we _met_?" Fenris asked impatiently, a scathing look entering his eye. My eyebrow raised, and the lingering dust motes on my skin shifted.

_Ugh. Disgusting._

"What do you _mean,_have we-"

Oh.

_Oh_.

I examined his face, my hands snapping forward to capture his jaw and turn his cheeks _just so_. Olive skin. _Check_. Green eyes. _Check_.

Lyrium tattoos that he's always bitching about. _Cross._

White hair. _Cross_.

Holy Maker, he even appeared to be _younger,_his chiseled jaw rounded in places that were normally arched and firm, the creases his mouth less lined, skin unscarred-

"_Release_me," he growled, pushing me away from him. I stumbled back, my hands slipping from his face and grasping air as I fell further into the dark. "Who are you?"

"Marian," I replied automatically, shutting my mouth and sucking my lips between my teeth to keep it from falling open again. I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks heat.

"I - who are _you_?" I retorted quickly to throw him off, my voice catching only slightly in the midst of the question with the absurdity of it. I sucked in a breath, breathing in a lungful of drifting dust and coughing lightly.

His narrowed eyes scoured my face in distrust, undeterred in the face of my choking. "You called me Fenris. Are you confused?"

I gave him a weak grin, my eyes watering. Fucking dust. "Did I?" I asked in a poor substitute for confusion. "Must have been a slip of the tongue. Your name is obviously..." _not Fenris_. I was flabbergasted. _Not_Fenris.

I hoped he would finish the sentence _for_ me, but my hope was in vain. He did not move from his wooden stance in front of me, his eyes growing perceptively harder. I tried not to inhale, wondering how he could remain composed in this disgusting place. "Right. Well, thank you, _not Fenris_, for leading me to this...place." I glanced around the room he had dragged me into, only now realizing that it was a spacious storage room. I cleared my throat again, reminded of the dust as it clung to the wooden shelves. "Lovely, isn't it? Of course, I'll be using these, these, ah," I squinted at what looked like a pail and shovel. "_...stuff_ soon enough, won't I?"

Did a slave ever need the use of a shovel?

I supposed if I ever had to bury any dead bodies...

_Look on the bright side_, I told myself. _That magister may want you to plant a cheery garden in the future._

_Cheery gardens. Who am I kidding?_

A cheery garden on top of someone's dead body, more like.

_Does that mean I'll have double the need for a shovel and pail?_

Fenris didn't buy what I was selling. "When did you get here?"

"When I walked through the front door," I quipped nervously. "Now, what are we in here for? Aren't you supposed to be beating me, or something?"

His mouth grew thin as his eyes hardened in anger. "Do not test me, girl," he warned arrogantly. "Or I will."

I raised my eyebrows. "So you _aren't_going to whip me?" Confusing, wasn't he? He swooped to my rescue in the dark, dry hallway only to threaten me himself in this musty closet.

I sniffed. It smelled disgusting, like rotten cheese and a soiled mop.

And pee.

Curious smells aside, I wondered if saving other slaves from beatings was something Fenris - or _not_Fenris - normally did. Would he get into trouble? "Should I pretend you are? You know, make some rough noises or something?"

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Imbecile," he muttered beneath his breath. "I will not whip you," he said, "for a first offense. You are clearly not a slave -" _again with the "not a slave". Can a girl not catch a break? _"- and are not accustomed to the consequences for your actions." He exhaled through his nose. "Be thankful the Mistress did not catch your abuse of her possessions. Be thankful I was watching, and that I am merciful."

It was a _cup_.

"Abuse! I did _not_abuse the -"

He ignored me. "You will not _break_the Mistress's possessions, you will not disobey, and you will do nothing without permission, or I will be forced to punish you."

"They should not startle me," I grumped. "It was not my fault."

He took a step away from me in the confined space. "Return to your duties."

I did not find out whether it was an order or a suggestion, because a second later he opened the door and gracefully ducked his dark head behind it before I could say anything. My heart leapt into overdrive and I panicked, chasing him around the wooden obstruction. "Wait!" I yelled, causing several people unseen to hiss in unison. I lowered my voice. "_Fenris_."

A second too late, I realized that I _probably_ should not call him Fenris_._

His lanky frame towered over me when we stood upright - was he always so tall? - and I shrunk down as he pressed the full, imposing power of his height over me when he turned.

"Yes?" he hissed through his teeth, a barely-there whisper of consonants.

"I - I don't know," I stammered, feeling the blush on my cheeks. What was wrong with me? I _never_blushed. "I don't know where -"

"She needs an escort around the manor," inserted a worn voice. "Allow me to-"

I glanced to Fenris. "Will you take me?" I blurted hopefully, impulsively. I didn't wish to go with Svanna - she would definitely make good on her promise to have me punished.

Even if he was a blighter, I would prefer a familiar face.

"You think I have nothing better to do than show a _slave_around her quarters?" he growled at me, but I saw the gleam of surprise in his eye. "You will learn, or you will not learn. It matters not to me."

I sighed. _At least his attitude hasn't changed._

"Leave her to me," Svanna suggested, stepping around Fenris's lean body. She grabbed my arm, pulling me close enough to whisper in my ear. "Do not be foolish, child."

I jerked away from her chilled touch, back into Fenris. I glanced into his eyes, the same emerald eyes I had always known. To my great pleasure, I found that they were unchanged, a familiar feature in a foreign appearance. "Please."

There was hesitation in his eyes, hesitation that swelled my chest with uncertain hope. I tried to convey how anxious I was through our eye contact, looking to sway him.

His sigh was slowly followed by an acceptance. "Very well," he said, his hand snapping out to cage my wrist. Svanna appeared grim in my peripheral vision, mouth set in a frown and her wrinkled face forlorn. Fenris dragged me down the hall behind him and I stumbled, trying to keep pace with his long, graceful legs. "These are the sleeping quarters. You will sleep when rest is allowed, and it is not a privilege given lightly."

"Fenris," I began, only to receive a cold glare from over his shoulder as he pulled me from the hall and back into the kitchen. "My hand hurts."

"The kitchen is where you will spend your after-mealtime hours," he said gruffly, ignoring my complaint. "You do not touch the food the Mistress and her company is to consume. Understood?"

"Yes, I understand, but-"

He tried to pull me from the kitchen, but I put my foot down. "_Hey_."

He stopped, and I watched his eyes shut in annoyance. He turned, hand still grasping my arm, and allowed me speaking room.

I yanked my wrist from his hand. "_Thank_you," I groaned, rubbing the tender flesh. "You really are quite rude, did you know that?"

"It does not matter what you think," Fenris said stoically. "Only what you do."

"So, you want to fight me?" I asked without thinking.

I blinked my eyes. After all, it did not matter what he _thought_about me.

But he _acted _as if he wanted to punch me in the throat.

So, technically, were those fighting words?

"Excuse me?" he sputtered, shocked speechless.

"You heard me," I bluffed, sticking up my pathetic fists, wondering where I was going with this. I was certain that he would best me in a fight, but Maker _damn_ it, this elf had to give. "Do you want to fight me?"

Not that I considered fighting him - I suppose I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of this Fenris, to gauge if he was as familiar as he seemed.

It worked. A tanned hand reached up to run down his face. "You are asinine," he said plainly. "Did you come from a family of fools?"

I thought a moment. _Carver doesn't count, _I told myself. "A pack of wild Mabari, actually."

"Mabari," Fenris stated, amused. "I think we are done here. I may even let the Mistress know that she bought a Fereldan wench - she may think to return you." He headed for the door to the foyer.

_Ouch._I frowned. I wasn't a wench, was I?

...and did I give so much away that he could tell I was Ferelden-born?

"What, no more smart words?" Fenris asked, glancing behind his back. He saw that I was frowning, and stopped, eyes widening minutely. "Did I wound you, Fereldan?"

"My name is Marian," I said, glowering. "You would do well to use it."

He reached his arm out to me once more. "You-"

A gasp cut his words off and Fenris turned, yanking me into his back. My hand came around his waist to steady myself, but he pushed away from me and through the door when a distinct ripping sound echoed from the hallway and into the kitchen. I jumped into action as I watched the skinny boy crash to the floor, falling through tatters of flitting fabric and past a window sill.

I flew to his side and caught his shoulders before his head slammed into the flooring, holding him fast in my arms.

The small boy's eyes grew large and round when the tall shadow of Fenris loomed over us; he squeaked and scrambled to his knees, and I examined the torn, rich fabric lying on the wooden floor, matching it with the beautiful tapestry hanging over the windows.

A stool sat, unassuming and overturned, beneath the window.

The simplest explanation was that the boy had heard us arguing and fallen in surprise.

I made a note to be quieter in future arguments.

Because yes, there _would _be more arguments.

_Fereldan wench._

_I'll show _you _a 'Fereldan wench'._

Fenris clutched the boy's head, fingers threading through his hair roughly. His other hand reached around behind his back to grasp a whip at his waist - why had I not noticed the whip? - and he swung it out, cracking it into the air. The boy flinched.

I recognized the child from earlier - he was the boy that ran away from me in the kitchens.

"What are you doing?" I asked, aghast as Fenris raised the whip. My face distorted in anger as I yelled at him. "Stop!" I commanded, groping at the hand held fast in the boy's hair, attempting to remove it. I stared in stunned disbelief as Fenris wielded the whip as if to use it, lifting it with a practiced hand.

"Back away," Fenris ordered, releasing the boy only to toss me aside. "He is to be taught a lesson."

"Like hell he is!" I yelled, throwing myself in front of the boy again. "You stay away from him!" I curled around the small elf, protecting him from Fenris's wrath. "Are you okay?" I spoke directly into his pointed ear. He nodded, his thin frame shaking beneath me.

"You are interfering," Fenris said angrily. "Back away from the child."

I had always known that Fenris was brutal, but this was ridiculous.

"Only if you promise not to _hurt_him," I growled, tightening my hold on the boy's frail bones. "It was an accident."

"An accident that would cost him his life, had the Mistress been near," he barked. "Release him."

"No! I refuse!" I pressed the boy closer.

"What is the meaning of this?" Svanna asked, entering the foyer. She eyed the boy and myself, and then Fenris, his whip drawn behind him. "Leto?"

_Leto._

Really? Leto?

Hm. He looked more like a _Fenris_ than a _Leto_.

I chided myself inwardly for having a biased opinion.

"The child destroyed the Mistress's property. He is paying the price."

"He doesn't have to!" I protested, eyes finding Svanna's. "Let him go." I turned my glare back to Fenris. "You didn't whip _me_for the same offense."

"Is that true, Leto?"

Fenris stood stoic. "That can be rectified at any moment, Fereldan." His dark hair shivered on his head as he lowered the whip, the tendons in his biceps twitching.

"I can have the curtain sewn," Svanna said cautiously. "The Mistress will never be able to tell a difference."

_Victory!_my inner warrior roared at Svanna's words. I appraised her with an alternate perspective as she persuaded Fenris to let the boy go without a lashing.

"But the boy..."

"Who is there to say you didn't whip him?" she asked, glancing at the elves washing the floor nearby. They both whipped their heads back down to observe their work, trying their damndest to seem oblivious to what was happening not five feet away. "And who is there that would testify that you _didn't_whip the girl?"

Fenris scowled at me, and my back raised as the boy shrank. He obviously didn't enjoy such a blatant disregard for the rules.

It was his fault for starting it. He _could_ have whipped me.

_Hypocrite._

"You would have injured a child," I stated, finally releasing the kid. He trembled and immediately stood, running from the room, leaving only a puddle in his wake. I sighed and distanced myself from his shame, standing to face an enraged Fenris. "You would have whipped him."

"He deserved to be punished," Fenris said, eyes narrowing.

"So did I, but you didn't punish _me_," I retorted.

"Pity stayed my hand," he sneered. My mouth dropped and my blood boiled.

"_Pity_?" My voice strangled with rage. "Pity? You _pity_ me?" And he didn't pity the boy? My hands shook with the force of restraint. "I do not_ need _nor want your damned pity," I spat. "I pity _you_if your first reaction to an accident is yanking a whip out!"

Maybe I _did_need to fight him.

"Sleep!" Svanna cried as Fenris's face turned red. "It is time for bed!" She leapt between Fenris and I, hands outstretched. "Leto, you have duties to attend. I will show her to the sleeping quarters."

"She _cannot_speak to me like-"

"Come!" Svanna beckoned me, turning and heading back through the kitchen. I glowered at Fenris as I followed her, absent-mindedly wondering when I would ever see the rest of the house.

"What is _his_problem?" I muttered behind her as the door swung shut behind me.

"His duty is to punish those who step out of line," Svanna answered wearily.

"But it was an accident!" I protested.

"The boy is a slave," she said. "As are you, as am I. It does not matter if it was an 'accident' - it is considered a transgression."

"Fucked up place," I seethed. Fenris was in charge of beating children. Nice.

"You have been here barely an hour and already you have struck a name for yourself," the stewardess sighed. "If you do not keep your head down, you will certainly be killed."

"That whip could have snapped the boy's neck," I said as we crossed the kitchen. "I could have just saved his life."

"I know," Svanna said. "But that does not mean it was a fairly apt action." She led me back down the hall and to a door; we walked inside, passing several sleeping elven children. "Find a place to sleep and get as many hours as possible. You will be woken at the cock's first crow at four bells and be immediately sent to..." she paused thoughtfully. "Do you sew, Marian?"

"I may be able to," I said, remembering the clumsy lessons my mother used to give. "Where do I go?"

"Two doors down and to the left," Svanna said as a boy ran in the room. The same boy that had ripped the curtain. "Drehal," she named him as he bowed to me. "This is Marian."

"Thank you, ma'am," Drehal whispered timidly.

I patted his head, smoothing the carnage that had been dealt to the hair on his scalp. "Don't mention it."

"Try to be careful, Drehal," Svanna said. "Marian has agreed to help mend your mistake. You will not be cleaning windows from now on, child."

He nodded fervently. I rubbed my cheek absent mindedly, hoping he wasn't planning on repaying me with anything - especially anything that would throw me back into trouble.

Although, I was hardly certain I was _out_ of trouble. Perhaps I would refrain from lingering on Fenris - _Leto_'s bad side. It would get me beaten, or whipped - or worse. With a wildcard like him around, I would have to be respectful.

And most importantly, I would have to watch my fucking mouth.

A doomed effort, I was certain.

I had spent the better part of our interaction trying to get a rise out of him, and I had succeeded - if not in the way I had planned. Even so, arguing with Fenris was one of my favorite pastimes, and I hoped he would realize that I wasn't going to let him have his way so easily.

If at all.

I glanced around the room, trying to find a place to rest my head. There were elves all about the room, laying in cots, rugs, stacks of clothes, sacks, crates, and even the bare floor.

I groaned. I _hated _sleeping on the floor; my luxurious life in Hightown had evidently spoiled me to such things. Still, I bowed to fate and found a quiet corner that was, as of yet, unoccupied. I tilted my head against the wall and shut my eyes to the dark room, feeling the weight of the other elves staring at me all the while.

Tomorrow would be a day worth preparing for.

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><p><strong>Is anyone still around to read this?<strong>


	4. 03 The Mistake

**There are quite a few of you still here! *steals ****theifkingbakura1's popcorn***** Thanks for sticking by me in my lack of punctuality.**

**03. The Mistake**

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><p><em>All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling. <em>

_- Blaise Pascal_

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><p><strong>-M-<strong>

I didn't get it.

I awoke, tried my hand at sewing, afterwards I left for the kitchens. I finished cleaning the breakfast plates, swept and mopped the floors, and then stared at the wall for a full five minutes, deep in thought.

It was a blessing that I was not caught in an idle state. There was a flow to the operations within the mansion, a timely cycle with grueling repetition - one kink in the wheel and there would be hell to pay. Slaves were rarely given significant orders; most knew their duties by heart, and there were hardly deviations from routine. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, I assumed, other than Kornyn passing by while I swept the floor and giving me a curt nod.

_That_was a little strange.

I did not understand Fenris. I did not understand Tevinter. I did not understand what I was supposed to be learning from this experience.

Life had been only confusing in Kirkwall.

In Tevinter, I would not be surprised if Fenris began whistling a few Orlesian opratic performance melodies.

"Having fun?" asked a familiar voice. I turned from the wall to see Kornyn, his shifty eyes mocking, leaning against the opposite wall. His russet face was a welcome one, if not a slight annoying. None of the people in the mansion acknowledged each other unless there was a duty to be done, and so I found his interaction strange.

"How long have you been here?" I returned to sweeping debris into a pile on the floor, a mind numbing task.

It had been my first almost-full day in Tevinter, and already I sensed a pattern:

The wind would blow sand in.

The slaves would sweep sand out.

The sand would miraculously return to the floors.

The slaves would sweep the sand out...again.

Repeat ad nauseam.

Interesting as it was to be in a new climate, my curiosity was soon dampened by frustration for the heat and dry sand that collected as dust on every surface.

It would take a battalion of slaves just to keep every surface relatively clean - I was glad that I had never felt the compulsion to move to Tevinter. I had only been living in the manor for a few hours and was already repulsed by the climate.

"I have been present long enough to see how clueless you are," he replied, his hand attempting to rub stiffness from his neck.

"I thought you told me not to talk to other slaves," I said, my glare half-hearted. Kornyn had a sweet, bright face that was difficult to be cross at, no matter how annoying he seemed to be.

"I said with the Mistress around," Kornyn pointed out. He flashed his piercing yellow eyes slowly around the room, making his point. "Do you _see_ a mistress?"

I turned from him to wipe down the counter. "Are you always a smartass, or am I special?" I glanced over my shoulder at him to catch his eye roll.

"It's not that." He shrugged, the corner of his mouth tipping up. "You are...different."

"So I've been told," I groused. _Several times_.

"It is not bad," he assured me. "It is...refreshing to have someone around who is _not_a slave."

"Newsflash," I said, turning to the counter and abandoning my broom by the pile of sand. I made a mental note to retrieve a dustpan when I had a free, Kornyn-less moment. "I _am_a slave."

"You were bought like a slave, and you are treated as a slave," Kornyn said, cracking his fingers nonchalantly, "but we can all tell that you are different. You are not a sheep."

"Ba-ah," I mimicked, earning a snort from him as his eyes followed me to the richly-colored kitchen counter.

"You see?" he said, chuckling. "No slave would be speaking, let alone _teasing_." Kornyn kicked the pad of his foot against the wooden floor, and I glared at the movement. _So help me, if he kicks my pile of sand..._ "They whisper only in their beds, when the lights are out and the Magister is sleeping."

"I did not hear any whispers last night," I challenged, rinsing a ratty rag through the water in the basin. The water was a murky gray; I was unsure if I was cleaning the rag or dirtying it further.

_If slaves do not talk so much, how come you are jabbering away at me?_

If I had to take a guess, I would say that it was in Kornyn's nature to be talkative, outgoing person. He easily fit the type description.

"That is because they are trying to be good examples," Kornyn said, leaning beside me, his elbow brushing mine as he arched backwards onto the counter. His skin was ashy. "Did you not notice? I heard Svanna was trying to be strict with you." He grabbed my wrist. "They are trying to _train_ you, Marian, before the Magister has to."

"Sure," I offered noncommittally, wiping sweat from my brow. It was stifling in the mansion; we had left the chill miles behind in Vol Dorma, apparently. "Why is it so _hot_?" Kornyn, at least, did not seem affected.

He merely shrugged. "It's always hot - except in the market, which is a bit west of us."

I sighed. "Of course it is." If Fereldans despised anything other than foreigners and highwaymen, it was extreme heat.

"Tevinter has a heated climate," came a cold voice. "I assume wherever you two were yesterday was the exception."

"See?" Kornyn joked feebly, as if Fenris's statement proved anything at all. His eyes cut to the intimidating elf. I had the urge to turn my head to see him for myself, but kept my eyes resolutely on my filthy rag. _Do not acknowledge him. Do not acknowledge him._"Nothing is normal with you around. Not even the weather."

"Do you have nothing better to occupy yourself with?" Fenris snapped, sounding pissed.

I tried to rein in my shiver before it came to fruition.

Maker _damn_ that tone of his.

Maker damn _him_.

The temptation was too great; I had to turn around, completely abandoning the pretense of ignoring him.

_Damn, damn, damn._

_Can't a girl have values anymore?_

_Obviously not, if they have met Fenris._

"He does not have to go if he does not wish to." I narrowed my eyes at him, not meeting his gaze. My voice was low; I attempted to sound threatening, but I only succeeded in sounding like I had an illness.

_He is not the same,_ I insisted to myself, glaring at the hollow of his throat. _No matter how similar he appears, the dark-haired Leto is a stranger._

_A stranger that whips innocent people._

The battle to redeem him in my mind as the same person was being quickly lost. Despite the fact that I knew his rightful name, I _still_ refused to acknowledge him as 'Leto'. He was Fenris; he would _always_be Fenris to me, no matter his appearance.

"He has his own duties to attend," Fenris growled in return, his eyes widening irately at my rebuttal.

"I do not, if I can be honest." Kornyn smiled impishly in my peripheral. "My whim is completely at Lady Marian's," he said with a mock bow, bending at the waist and twisting his arm into a flair. I groaned, rolling my eyes as Fenris openly seethed at his words, his face twisting.

"For both our sakes, _never_ call me that again," I hissed at Kornyn, casting a wary glance at Fenris out of the corner of my eye, gauging his fury.

_On a scale of one-to-ten, Fenris, just how angry are you?_

"I suggest you distance yourself, Kornyn," Fenris warned, his hand ghosting over the leather strap of his whip, itching for action. He tried to school the expression on his face, but I wasn't fooled. I pointed to the door, and Kornyn winked at me.

"He's fine, my lady; he just needs to learn that _he_iss a slave, as well, which makes him just as degenerate as the rest of-" Kornyn immediately jerked out of the way as Fenris's hand swung out to smack him. He chuckled and waved at me as he ducked from the kitchen, leaving a steaming Fenris in his wake.

Fenris exhaled angrily through his nostrils, watching him go with a cool gaze.

"He is going to get himself killed, isn't he?" I asked tiredly after Kornyn had disappeared. I was in no shape to put up the bullshit facade right then; my irritation with Fenris dwindled to an inkling of dull feelings with him near.

That elf did strange things to my head.

Like scramble it.

Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That, or he will force _me_to do it."

How unenthusiastic of him. I raised my eyebrows and leaned my elbows back onto the counter, mocking Kornyn's previous stance. My poor washrag sat forgotten in the basin, a lost cause. "You didn't seem too reluctant when you were about to break his neck."

_So hot and cold._

_Does he even realize how confusing he is? Can he appreciate what we endure when we are in his presence?_

He had the decency to appear sheepish, but only slightly so. "Someone has to teach him a lesson." I wondered vaguely what he was doing here, but it was a fleeting, easily banished thought. "It is challenging, being the only person with any sense of propriety."

"I'm sure," I murmured, placative. "Everyone else has to do their job while you sit back and look menacing." I hid my smirk by scrunching my lips; a failed attempt, as his glare returned full-force with one glance at my face. "Quite challenging, indeed."

His sharp, green eyes halted any further comments from me. "You have no idea what you are talking about," he said, a barely-perceptible tone inside the folds of his voice a slight melancholy. Curiosity tugged at the wings of my mind, begging me to inquire further.

"Then tell me about it," I offered, hoisting myself onto the counter top he had previously scowled at.

Fenris had a habit of scowling at everything within eyesight. I was unsure if I found his cold insolence repulsive or alluring; on one hand, spending any amount of time with one so brooding tended to wear upon my nerves.

On the other hand...

I had to admit that I enjoyed his dour expressions, to a point.

Perhaps I was merely attracted to tortured souls - if that were the case, I would have to pay a kind visit to Anders when I returned, just to be sure.

_No one does angst like Fenris,_ the woman inside me sighed in appreciation.

I agreed whole-heartedly, but remained unconvinced of the attractiveness of said trait.

_He always looks so...mean._

"We cannot be seen talking," Fenris countered immediately. I smiled inwardly, hiding my satisfaction of the evil eye he bore at my current position: perched on a station where food was prepared. How rebellious of me. "We will both be-"

"I don't see anyone," I said, paraphrasing Kornyn's words from earlier. "Really, it will only be a nice chat between the two of us."

"That is impossible," he said, fisting his hands, and I was unsure if he was referring to us talking in general or us have a _nice_ conversation. "Make no mistake, _Marian,_" he spat. "I will not be put off guard by your inane prattling; I have had years of conditioning that will not be -"

"Touch_y_," I interrupted, raising my hands in surrender, palms facing outward. I grimaced at the turn of the conversation. "Then let's _not_ talk." _You selfish prick._ I inhaled deeply, counting carefully and slowly to five, not desiring to spark either of our tempers. I would _not_ fight with him.

The pretty rock had sent me here to learn to be with Fenris.

So far, I had not learned shit.

_Thanks a lot, rock_.

I finally released my exhale, staring longingly at his long, angular face. He looked so young, so untarnished. The scowl was the same, but the full, vicious loathing was absent.

He had no idea what was ahead of him...

_It doesn't have to be ahead of him_, said a voice in the back of my mind. I doused that inner flame immediately, unwilling to consider changing this past - alternate reality - whatever it was.

_Still..._

A tempting thought, albeit a clever risk. I could possibly jeopardize our entire future; what if I changed events? What if I did something, or said something, that had the ability to change the course of Fenris's life?

Or _my_ life?

What if Fenris was never passed to Danarius, never inflicted with lyrium, never escaped because of something I did?

What if my family never departed Ferelden?

There were millions of things that I could do wrong, or correct. I was not even supposed to _be_ there, if I were being honest with myself. My presence was an abomination upon this time, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

If this _was not_ the past, however - just a figment of my imagination, or an alternate reality - would it even matter?

Would I have to live out the remainder of my existence in this place?

I shivered at the thought. Never being my own person, always answering to another's beck and call. It was no way to live; I abhorred the notion, my gaze returning to Fenris as we sat in silence.

I had to say something. The silence was approaching awkward, and I did not wish to be strangers with him - I never had, even when we _were_technically strangers. There was something about him, an attractive quality that appealed to me regardless of how he cursed and raged.

I inhaled, contemplating my choice of words. I was insanely curious of him, of his life. I wanted to know everything. I had to admit that I mostly wanted to know because, if at some point that I should ever return to my own time period, I would be able to tell Fenris...the _future_ Fenris...of his life. It would be a privilege to learn, and even more rewarding to share with his amnesiac self later on - if, of course, this was even real.

Burning with interest and stumbling over confusion, I had to restrain myself from blurting the first questions that came to mind. But I had to ease his discomfort first. Any subject would do, so I picked my favorite one.

"Fenris, have you ever-"

"My name is Leto," he corrected.

"Of course it is," I said. "Anyway, Fenris, have you ever eaten Ferelden-style cake?"

"Cake is for mages," Fenris said, staring at the floor. "Mages and humans."

I flinched. Even without the markings, without Danarius, he held such hatred for mages. "Cake is for everyone, though," I pushed, trying to incite his notice. "I remember eating cake for every birthday." I smiled at him, hopefully inviting conversation. "And in my family, we had a lot of birthdays to celebrate."

His ears twitched. _Come on_, I thought to myself, silently urging him. _"_You have family?"

The smile wiped from my face as I felt the familiar sting that came after remembrance. "Yeah," I said, throat thick. I cleared it. "I had a family."

Fenris was quiet for a moment, but I knew I still held his interest. Did _he_have a family? Did he ever celebrate a birthday with cake and a younger brother, or did his mother ever surprise him with a warm kiss and fresh cookies?

"What happened?" he asked coolly, trying to not show is intrigue.

I sighed. "It's a long story..." I trailed off.

_Come on._

"If you had a full human family, you would not be here," he said, shifting on his long legs.

"You said we could not be seen talking," I reminded, hoping he would take the bait. Teasing him was sinfully fun.

_Come on._

Fenris glanced around the room, looking out the one window that showed the late hour of the evening. He took a deep breath, then glared at me, knowing I had influenced him but unable to curb his interest. "Do not tease me, girl," he said, but I knew he was not angry. "I see no one around."

_Got you._

I smiled at him, but it was short-lived as I realized I would have to remember my family-members' ill-fated deaths.

_Keep it short, keep it simple_. It was the easiest way to avoid getting choked up, and I was not about to get emotional with an audience. "My father died a long time ago in Lothering - an accident. It was a direct blow to our entire family. Da was everything to us," I said, frowning.

How had I gotten onto this subject?

I looked up at Fenris's face, measuring his interest. Though he faced the wall, his eyes were directed at me, and I could only hope that he was paying attention. Satisfied in knowing that this was for a cause, I continued. "We fled Lothering after..." Well, I couldn't very well say the _Blight_, could I? If my suspicions were correct, and I had been somehow transported to the past, then the Fifth Blight wouldn't have happened yet. I cleared my throat. "After he died. My brother, my sister, my mother and I... we were all each other had, and we ran for Kirkwall." I inhaled, putting my arms to the cool countertop in a vain effort to ignore the heat.

"We had an uncle in Kirkwall and we were to stay with him until we thought of something better to do, I guess."

Pausing, I thought of what I could say. Could I tell him that I spent my years in Kirkwall finding fools to follow me? Finding_ him_?

Definitely not.

"Did you make it to Kirkwall?" he asked me, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yes," I said, deciding to tell as much as the truth as I could. "But on the way out of Lothering, my sister..." Poor Bethany. I blinked as I remembered her heroic effort of trying to save Mother. "She was killed by an ogre."

"An ogre?" Fenris asked, his eyebrows raising. "Ferelden sounds like a dangerous place."

I chuckled, clearing my throat. "A dangerous place that rears dangerous people, or so I am told," I said. "Mother, my brother and I made it to Kirkwall safely. We lived there for a few years, but my brother contracted a disease and passed." Or joined the Grey Wardens, but I did not want to explain why we were in the Deep Roads. That was a different story altogether; for all intents and purposes, Carver was dead, and I was most likely never to see him again.

"And your mother?"

My fists clenched until I quieted my instinctive reaction to that particular memory, loosening my fingers. "She was butchered," I said, voice even. "By a madman." I inhaled. "I have no more family to speak of, other than my uncle - and he only cares about me when he needs money."

"How did you end up here?" Fenris asked, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"I could ask you the same thing," I prodded, feeling as if I had shared too much and he too few. "How did you end up in this place, Fenris?"

He grimaced. "I was sold."

"By who?" I asked. Who would ever sell Fenris? He was strong, swift, and gifted beyond measure.

_Not to mention extremely handsome._

"My late Master's eldest separated the lot of slaves, detached them to other magisters," he said, voice cold. "I was one such slave."

"And your family?"

"Never mind my family," Fenris said, straightening. "I must return to my post."

I watched him exit, a wry, crooked smile on my face, feeling both accepted and rejected and completely undecided about I felt about it.

**-M-**

I was carrying a half-load of laundry up two flights of stairs - really, how many stairs did one household need? - when I bumped into a girl. Rather short in stature, she had blonde hair and lime eyes - features I noticed _after_ I had dropped my load of laundry.

I groaned, rolling my eyes as the girl gasped and fell to her knees, frantically gathering up the fallen rags. I lazily tugged on one of her pigtails to slow her movements. "Don't sweat it," I said, garnering her attention. She looked up, green eyes finding mine quickly in surprise. "I drop shi- _things_ all the time." I glanced around at the grand doors and expensive furniture that decorated the expansive hallway. "What brings you up here, baby doll?"

The girl blinked her large, round eyes up at me, then diverted them nervously to the other end of the hall. Her little hand motioned me down to her level, and I leaned my ear towards her mouth and let her whisper to me.

"There is someone here."

Nothing else, just the four words. But they were so genuine, so serious, that I had to listen to her. If there was one thing I had learned from children throughout my life, it was that they were more perceptive than even the craftiest adults. Who was I to question her tentative declaration?

A hallway never seemed so ominous in the bare-light of the evening. A few candles flickered along the walls, offering a slim amount of light to observe the obstacles before us. There were expensive, ancient vases on stands, decorative weapons that hung on hooks, and impressive paintings that were framed in thick tapestries were scattered across the walls.

Who did she think was here?

It was late; most of the slaves were in bed, but Svanna had specifically assigned me the task of laundering the fabrics that would need to be pristine by morning; the Mistress of the castle was prolific in politics and had a meeting in the early noon and would be upset if Senatorial robes were unclean.

I cast my gaze around the hallway, lingering on an adornment. A sword. Something a mage would normally have no use for, thus it was hung on an expensive rack on a lavishly decorated wall, remaining unused.

I sighed. I would have loved to make use of that sword, had I been back in Kirkwall. In fact...

Swiftly moving my feet so they did not patter against the naked floor, I carefully removed the finely-welded blade from the wall and tested its weight. A light blade, possibly something a rogue would carry - definitely not one of the massive broadswords that Fenris would normally have strapped to his back.

No, this was a sword of which_ I _could wield.

Placing my fingers against my lips, I signaled to the girl. Not that she needed reminding. She slipped to the wall and kept her mouth tightly shut, her curls all but disappearing behind a curtain.

Smart girl.

Walking down the hallway, I was careful to mind my surroundings, looking for anything - or anyone - out of the ordinary. I was not sure what that would be, since I had barely been in the mansion a day, but I knew something must have put the girl on edge.

I was hoping it wasn't the Magister and I would not be placed in the shithouse for desecrating a sacred item.

That would be unfortunate.

There was barely a second's notice, and then a dart was thrown at my face. I flung myself sideways, watching as the blade sliced through the air and found purchase against the far wall.

I swiveled around the dark hallway, stance closed, arms in, sword bared, just as I was taught.

My eyes darted, searching for any sign of movement.

"You cannot hide forever," I whispered, having only a few extra seconds of tension before it was broken by the sound of a blade being unsheathed. I whirled around, lunging forward, aiming directly towards the sound.

Whoever said mages were nothing without a staff had obviously never met a Hawke.

The blade I bore cut into the person's shoulder, and I heard a distinct grunt of pain echo off the walls. Before they had a chance to recover, I jolted forward and kicked them in the knee, sending them into the floor and smacking their blade away.

I pressed my blade against their neck - a man's neck - and grabbed the back of his masked head.

"Who sent you?" Always a standard question.

"Die," he growled beneath his breath. My sword nicked his Adams Apple.

"I'll ask you a final time," I said slowly. "Who sent you?"

"Burn in hell," he spat. Already tired with these games, I shrugged. It was his choice, after all - I raked the point of the blade across his throat, watching him choke and suffocate on his own life blood.

What was he to me, anyway? The Magister most likely had several enemies.

None that I cared about, surely.

"After you," I said quietly as he slumped to the floor. I groaned when I saw the mess I had made - I would most likely have to clean it up, too.

I sighed and wiped my blade against the clothing on his back, replacing it against the wall where it had been hanging. Now, where was that girl?

"_What did you do?_"

I turned towards the growl, already knowing who I would face. _Must be Kismet_. "Absolutely nothing," I lied with a cheeky smile. Fenris glared at me, opening his mouth to speak.

A door creaked open, and we held our breaths.

"What in the name of the Divine is happening?" the Magister muttered irritably, stepping out of her room. She wore an elegant nightgown, spun with a soft blue silk.

I eyed it enviously, shifting in my uncomfortable rags. She even wore matching slippers.

That_ bitch_.

She glanced to the body of the assassin on the floor, and tittered. "He was for me, I expect?"

Fenris bowed his head, face red with fury. Fury that was directed at me?

When was his anger _not_ directed at me?

_When it is directed at some other poor sod._

She rubbed her head, her finely-laced gown shifting with the movement. "Well, then," she yawned, uninterested. "I'll see you are finely compensated for your job well done tonight, Leto, with a furnished meal."

"But Mistress-"

She held up her dark hand to stop him. "_Tomorrow_, Leto. I must get my sleep, you understand; tomorrow the Senate meets, and I will not miss it."

Fenris bowed his head submissively again, and the Magister turned her gaze to me.

She stared, brown eyes intense. I swallowed the lump in my throat, wondering if she suspected anything. Was I supposed to attack that man? Should I have attacked him? If my Mistress had died, what would have happened to the people in the mansion?

Could she sense that I was a mage?

"Who are you?" she asked, cocking her head sideways, her messy black hair falling across her face.

"My name is Marian, Mistress," I answered, summoning my most powerfully contrite tone. Fenris sniffed beside me.

She squinted her eyes before recognition glimmered in them. "You are a new addition to my home," she said, nodding. Like I was a piece of furniture for her enjoyment. "Very well. Clean up this mess, and for the Divine's sake, bury this body somewhere."

She returned to her room promptly, and shut the door tightly behind her.

I blinked. "She isn't...concerned...about this?" Did she not care about finding out who would send an assassin after her? Not that I cared, it was merely...

A little odd.

Fenris exhaled through his nose, staring at me in my peripherals. I ignored him for as long as I could stand, staring into the darkness of the hallway, before I had to turn and face him.

"What?" I confronted, raising an eyebrow. His eyes narrowed. "_What_?"

"You killed a man," Fenris pointed out, nodding to the corpse.

"You have not?" I challenged.

"You killed an _assassin_," he continued being stubbornly obvious. "You performed _my _-" Fenris clenched his jaw, inhaling, "a guard's - job."

"That just means I'm faster than you," I bluffed, knowing that I very well was _not_ faster than he. I walked back to my pile of dirty laundry and began down the hallway, checking the outside of the doors for washable items. I picked up a few washrags and tossed them onto the pile.

One fell to the floor. I groaned, prepared to stoop down to pick it up again, but a quick, tanned hand flew before me and snatched it up.

"How?"

"Excuse me?" I replied, trying to grab the cloth from his hand and failing.

"How did you kill him?"

"With my bare hands," I deadpanned, stomping back to the stairs.

"He was cut," Fenris said, eyes flashing to the wall. "You used the ornamental knife, did you not?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," I conceded, carefully placing my feet on the stairs, unwilling to take a tumble with all the rags in my arms. "If I said yes, would you have to whip me?"

He didn't say anything, only followed me quietly down to the foyer where I dumped my armful of clothes. They could wait. I moved quickly to the supply closet in the kitchen, grabbing a bucket and some rags. I handed the bucket to Fenris.

"Make yourself useful."

I left him in the kitchen and ascended the stairs, dropping my rags. I sighed heavily and approached the body, still bleeding.

What a mess.

I could think of no way to move him without causing greater catastrophe. There was no choice. I eyed the window at the end of the hall - it would have to do. I grabbed the dead man by his feet and dragged him, popping my back in the process. I whimpered at the stabbing pain in my shoulders and contemplated kicking the corpse in retaliation.

A light _thunk_ echoed in the hallway, and Fenris was pushing me out of the way. "Open the window," he ordered quietly, face shadowed by the glinting candle light.

I did as he asked, none-too-eager to get away from the heavy weight of my kill. I cracked the window open and pushed it aside as Fenris managed to drag the body over to me. I grabbed the man's torso, and together we swung him over the lip of the window, sending him crashing down into the dry yard.

"Any chance we can leave him there until the morning?" I grimaced.

"He can wait," Fenris assured, eying me warily. I returned his gaze blankly, waiting for his inevitable accusation.

It didn't come.

I turned away from him, walking over to my rags. He had filled the rusty bucket with water for me; I dunked a rag in the bucket and set to cleaning the bloody floor.

"You were injured," he said as I descended to my knees. I kept my eyes on my work, but acutely heard his position shift.

"You are delusional," I murmured, scrubbing out a stain. "I am not injured."

"You are," he insisted, his hand reaching out to stay my own. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and lifted my arm. I glanced down at the side of my smock and grunted. It was there; a faint, red line that ran across my side, about four inches long. I hadn't even noticed the pain.

"It will heal."

Fenris said nothing, but I saw him stand. He released my arm and walked to the stairs; I immediately thought that he was leaving me in peace. A few moments later, however, he returned to my side, bearing an iron box. He set it beside my legs as I worked on the floor, trying to control how far my attire slid up my legs.

I attempted to ignore his presence for as long as possible, but it did not work. He grabbed my arms again, halting my progress.

"Can I do my job, please?" I asked, irritated.

He held my wrists together with one hand, stretching my hands over my head and stopping me from returning to my task. He opened the latch to the box with his free hand, pulling out a roll of gauze. "Why did you do mine?"

"I don't know," I said. "I was there, there was a weapon, an invader. It was what anyone would have done."

"It was not," Fenris argued stubbornly, releasing my hands to try lifting the bottom of my smock up. I slapped his hand away.

"Do you _mind_?" I hissed.

"Anyone else would have ran," he said, green eyes staring into mine. "Anyone else would have retrieved _me_, or another guard." His hand returned to my thigh, where the gray smock rested. "You have been trained."

I broke our eye contact so as to not give anything away.

"My Father taught me a little self defense," I played it off. "Just in case. Seems like it came in handy tonight."

"Let me bandage you," he insisted, sliding my smock up my thigh again. A jolt shot up my waist, and I smacked his hand away.

"You could procure an infection," Fenris pointed out in an aggravated tone, holding up the gauze.

"Why would _you_care?" I complained, remembering saying the same words...before? In the future?

The sentence, even in my head, made me a slight light-headed.

"Because you do not deserve to die of an _infection_," he growled beside me. "If an assassin cannot kill you, I will not allow a small cut to do you in just because you are too _obstinate_to receive assistance." He took a deep breath. "If you do not let me do this willingly, then I will take you to the resident nurse and expose you as the hero of the night. I am not sure what the Mistress would do to either of us, as we both lied-"

"I did not lie!" I inserted, fighting a losing battle. "And I am _not_stubborn!"

"-by omission and I did not do my job - and neither did _you_." His steely eyes were tough to stare at, so I scowled in the opposite direction with a pout.

He pronounced his words very carefully, leaving no doubt as to what he was saying. "Will you let me assist you?"

"Go for it," I answered, unenthusiastic, ready to be done with it. He slid the simple wool up my thigh and side until the shallow cut was exposed, just beneath my right breast. My face heated a fraction, and I tried to stomp down the instinctive reaction I had to his closeness, preferring instead to cover my bottom half up as well as I could with my hands.

He worked diligently, and I only glanced over once to spy his face - he was blushing, just as I was, the tips of his pointy ears a light pink. I looked away, feeling invasive, but a small smile played on my lips.

He cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. I stared at his face blankly for a moment before he tugged on my gray - now stained - smock, helping it fall back into place.

"Sorry," I apologized, uncertain of what it was for. I took a deep breath. "Thank you."

"No need," he brushed me off, rising to his feet. "It is the least I could do."

I nodded and grabbed a rag, dunking it into the soapy water. I lifted the bucket in front of me and tossed a quart of water on the floor, watching it run down the hallway. Fenris stood still, watching the window, not making a move to leave.

I shrugged and went to work, scrubbing off the blood.

_Cleaning up after a kill is a big pain in the ass._

My concentration was broken by a gasp and a hard _thump_ of Fenris crashing to the ground. My eyes widened at him, sprawled onto the soapy water, a startled look on his face. His hands were clawed uselessly on the floor as he tried to remain in one place.

I chuckled at his position, shaking my head. "It's slippery, you know," I said, looking up at his face and gasping.

His eyes were _burning_.

"Are you," his brows furrowed angrily. "_Laughing_ at me?"

I pressed my lips together, my eyebrows rising. His tone made me hold my breath; I sincerely didn't want to spark his ire further, but he had _soap bubbles _sliding down his chin.

A giggle slipped out as a bubble slipped from his nose, and I clasped a hand over my mouth. I shut my eyes and doubled over, unable to control the laughter.

A slap landed on the side of my face, and I felt water drip down my forehead and off my nose. I gasped, my eyes flying open to see Fenris, three feet away, a satisfied grin on his face.

I wiped the soap bubbles off my face, slightly in shock.

He _threw_ soap at me.

He threw _soap_ at my _face_.

I grabbed the bucket, yanking it towards me. His eyes widened and he started to push away from me, scrambling backwards down the hall. I grinned evilly, snickering as I hefted the heavy bucket and threw the contents at him, soaking his head. I snorted aloud as I watched it drip from his strands of brown hair, his face scrunched to keep the soap out of his eyes and mouth.

He shook the water off of him, running his hands across his face. His face was fuming, but when he opened his eyes...

Fenris's foot kicked out, flinging water onto my smock. I squeaked and immediately retaliated; cupping water in my hands and tossing it right back at him. I laughed at his expression as he grabbed some suds of his own, and we proceeded to fight.

It was unlike any other fight we had ever had.

It was playful.

It was _fun_.

I totally kicked his ass.

We rolled in water for about half an hour before we were both tired; I did not get a laugh from him, but the grins on his face appeased me. I coughed out a final laugh, my nose full of soap, before I collapsed beside him, panting and soapy.

"It is a good thing we didn't wake the Magister," I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. "We would have gotten in trouble, right?"

Fenris didn't say anything, so I turned to face him. I ran my hand down my side, fingers bumping over the deftly-applied bandage. He appeared to know what he was doing when it came to superficial cuts; I wondered how he would fair with a more problematic injury.

"How often do you do this?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Do what?" he asked, the exhilaration draining from his face. My smile dwindled as I watched his expression change drastically.

"Have fun," I said, grimacing. What was wrong with him?

"Never," Fenris said, eyes taking on a strange light.

"Never? You have _never_ had fun?" A uneasy feeling of nervousness swelled in my chest. "I suppose that would be fair; you don't have any friends, right? I mean," I babbled, "I wouldn't want to be friends with the person responsible for punishing me."

He glared and sat up, trying to keep his balance on the slippery floor.

My eyes widened when I thought of what I said. "_Not that you are a bad person!_ I mean, it is...what you do, right?" I cringed as I realized I was messing everything up. "Like how I have to clean. I can't help that I have to clean, and you can't help that you..." _have no friends._

You are a bitch, Marian Hawke.

"Sorry," I said, biting my lip. "I'm too nosy for my own good. I'm usually better behaved."

"I do not have any friends," Fenris repeated, frowning. I sat up beside him. "You are correct."

I winced. "That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

"It is only the truth."

"I'm sure you have friends, Fenris," I said, wanting to pat his arm - _something _- but feeling incredibly awkward. "It's just...you are always so cross."

I cringed again. "Sorry, I'm just putting my foot back into my mouth." I tried to stand. "Let me help you up," I said, my feet wobbling. I stepped closer to him and my foot slipped from under me.

Before I could crash down, he was there, nimbly on his feet and balancing me.

I hardened my jaw, pushing him slightly away. "Thanks," I muttered, feeling as if I had ruined his good humor with my inquisitive nature. I needed to get him away from me before I said something to further my stupidity. "I did not mean to piss you off."

Fenris sighed. "I am not mad at you, despite what you believe."

I looked up at him, having to crane my neck to have a good look at his face. "Really?"

He nodded, brow darkening. "I am...frustrated."

I raised an eyebrow. "Frustrated" and "mad" sounded eerily alike, in my opinion.

The warm hand that had covered my arm for balance scalded and kept me in place. I could not move away from him if I wanted to. "You have bested an assassin," Fenris said, grasping me harder. "You are a slave with no known background or history of training, yet your first reaction is to defend." His eyes narrowed. "My eyes will be on you, Marian."

"How flattering," I said, smothering a sardonic grin before it could blossom. "I've always wanted an elf to seethe at me from afar."

Fenris groaned, finally releasing me to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Mind your place," he warned, a flash of clarity peaking in his eyes. "You are a slave, first and foremost - remember that your life is not your own, and you have no say so over your actions."

"Why do you even bother warning me?" I wondered aloud, taking a step closer. "You have only known me a day; do I not deserve a chance to learn for myself?"

His mouth wound tightly shut as he observed me and I tried to pick apart his thought process.

I raised a sly eyebrow at him. "You _like_me, don't you?" I goaded. His face switched colors too quickly for it to be a coincidence - I had hit a target.

I was unsure of how far off the mark I was, however. "It's true," I laughed, poking him in the shoulder. "The big, bad wolf fancies me!"

I had forgotten how fast crushes could develop. I could hardly remember a time when mine was fully forming for him - the Fenris I knew, that is. Whenever I knew him.

"I do _not_fancy you," Fenris said patiently, the blush on his cheeks cooling. "Discard such nonsense from your mind. I suggest you not mock me," he growled, sending a wave of fire into my belly. I tried not to show my flustered nature on my face.

"Or what?" I teased, stepping closer and staring up at him. "You'll-"

I did not get a chance to finish my jibe; his lips descended to mine, his arms locking me inside of his unbreakable embrace, his mouth molding against my own in a chaste, but fiery, kiss.

My eyes clenched shut as my body excited; I was unable to take a full breath until he released me several seconds later, panting and blushing, confused and freshly kissed.

"I-" I began, trying to break the tension in the air, but he backed away faster than I could speak. "Wait-"

But he was gone, ducking as quickly as he could from the third floor. I barely caught sight of the tips of his ears before he disappeared completely down the stairs

"Fenris?" I squeaked, my voice echoing off the walls in the lonesome hall, his absence leaving a gap of unoccupied space in his wake.

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><p><strong>Too soon?<strong>


	5. 04 Fly on the Wall

**Three reviewers (and a cat!) don't think the kiss was too soon, so I trust their judgment.**

**I was going to hold off on updating for a while because of NaNoWriMo...but NaNoWriMo didn't exacerbate my writing, just kind of muddled it. After five days I was like "Yeah, fuck that" and had to sort out all the murky bits that I subsequently created. I much prefer writing on my own time.**

* * *

><p><em>On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points<em>.

_-Virginia Woolf_

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><p><strong>04: A Fly on the Wall<strong>

**-FW-**

I finished cleaning the floor _and _the laundry, leaving it on a drying rack in the washroom for the other slaves to carry off in the morning. My entire body was exhausted to the point of creaking with every movement from the hard work of scrubbing fabrics, my back aching from exertion required. The assassin's body that had been dumped outside the window was mysteriously gone when I checked, and I was grateful for it's miraculous disappearance.

I had no desire to dump a body this late in the evening - or this early in the morning, depending on how you saw it.

I returned to the kitchens - my favorite haunt, I realized, even if it was my most frequent workplace - and leaned against the countertop. The dishes were already clean, ready for use in the late morning when the Mistress would arise.

I told myself that I should find sleep in the gap of reprieve that had presented itself, but was unable to find the motivation to head to the sleeping quarters. The kitchen was silent and deserted, however, and much more welcoming than the thought of a packed room full of hopeless workers. I slid my foot across the floor, feeling the bare pad pick up infinitesimal dirt particles in its path.

I had been searching out a silent area and found more work. Knowing that keeping my mind off of _him_ would prove to be the wiser path, I chose to wash the floors. I filled a bucket with soapy water, the sight of it making me purse my lips, and began in a far corner, cleaning off the accumulated dirt in a mind-numbing task. I wondered how many feet normally tread through the kitchen - dozens a day, perhaps?

I hummed beneath my breath as I worked, a stupid song Da used to sing when he was in a good mood to try and lift my spirits. When my right arm grew tired of scrubbing, I switched to my left, scraping off dropped food and crusted mud.

How had all of this mess dropped on the floor in the course of _one day_? It seemed impossible.

The sun was slowly ascending through the windows before I completely finished, rising from my knees - and I was faced with an issue of a completely different nature. I smacked my forehead.

_Dumbass_.

If the floor was wet, how were the cooks supposed to prepare breakfast without injury or accident?

I scratched my head, glancing at each of the closed doors. Everyone would be awake in a few minutes; some of the other slaves had mostly likely already risen, preparing for another smooth day in paradise.

Another smooth day that would be hindered by slippery kitchen floors. A third accident, and I hadn't even been in the mansion for long - would they believe me a bringer of misfortune? I frowned and lifted my hands. What good would I be if I broke someone's leg? What if Fenris found out and saw me as a moron?

I had always been exceptional at suppressing my magic; it wasn't difficult for me to go months, even years without utilizing an increment of my gift. It was vital for a mage on the run to be able to survive without the dependency.

I was a quite capable person on my own, but this was another story. I didn't want to have an accident on my hands.

With red cheeks, I decided I wouldn't put up with something if I could change it. I didn't want to cause anyone harm, and it wouldn't take much for the floors to begin drying, just a little gust - I pushed the stagnant air away from my hand with a spark of magic, sending a draft across the kitchen and making my smock shudder.

I nodded in satisfaction at my work as I could see the glazed floor drying.

Movement. I jumped and dropped my hands in the same instant, facing the intruder.

I had been seen.

I faced the short, lithe elvhen girl who had warned me of the assassin's presence.

She had caught me.

I wondered if she could put two and two together - did she figure me out? As perceptive as she was, there could be no doubt. Would she tell Fenris what I was - would she believe _me _to be an assassin?

Grimacing, I tried to imagine how that would go over. Fenris was already unbearably confusing; I would hate to see what magic would do to enhance our situation.

There were stirrings heard from the hall she had appeared from, and I winced. There was no taking my actions back; I hadn't the faintest idea of what the punishments were for concealing mage status, or what the Mistress would suffer for owning me. Like she needed another reason to suffer.

It wouldn't matter who would take the blame; I would most likely be executed in private, possibly gutted by Fenris or hung by Svanna. My eyes begged the girl to hold her tongue, to let me be. After all, I meant her no personal harm.

She placed a short, skinny finger to her lips, mimicking my actions last night. I would have smiled if my heart wasn't giving out on me.

Both of my eyebrows rose in question.

She left the door behind her and came to stand beside me, her tiny hand winding in mine. I grasped it in return, leaning down to catch her softly spoken words.

"How are you today, Lady Marian?"

Cheeky. I raised my head, but left my hand inside the girl's.

"I thought I told you not to call me that," I responded. Kornyn swung the door shut behind him, a mischievous expression affixed to his face as he quickly stowed clean rags in the cupboards. My mouth curved. "Did the canaries taste nice?"

He halted his movements to stare blankly at me. "Pardon?"

So, slaves weren't allowed to appreciate fine humor? "Because...you look like the cat?"

Silence.

"...who caught the canary?"

A few more moments ran torturously through the atmosphere as my joke went unappreciated. It was sinful.

Fine humor, indeed.

I gave up. "What's up?" He would get it later.

Maybe.

Kornyn laughed and shut the cupboard. "You are one strange lady, Marian."

"And you're one strange stable boy, Stable Boy."

Another male elf entered the kitchen, and I pulled the girl out of his path.

We all received dirty looks from the man as he passed through.

"I see you've met Pana," Kornyn said, nodding at the girl clutching my hand as if nothing was amiss. "She's the apple of Svanna's eye." He grinned down at her and winked fondly.

"She's cute," I agreed, squeezing Pana's hand. "Why are you bothering me so early in the morning?"

He could have eaten shit by the looks of the grin he gave me.

I didn't like that grin. Why was he grinning?

Not good.

Not good at _all_.

"Sleep well, Mary?" he asked coyly, batting his eyes. I glared. Mary? "I could hardly sleep a wink after all the _things _I saw yesterday evening." He walked from the kitchen and into the foyer, and I followed, suspicious. Pana tugged my hand; I glanced down to see her shaking her head, the ponytail she wore swaying with the movement. She grasped my hand tighter.

"I'll return in a minute," I promised, releasing her hand. "I'll talk to you then, okay?" I wasn't concerned about her anymore - she wouldn't expose me. She would have done it already, if her intentions were such.

Kornyn, though...

"I'm certain that _things_ happen all the time," I said, following the elf out of the front door and around to the stables. "_Things _are common, right?" Were we even talking about the same thing?

No, we couldn't be - we would have known that there was someone else in the hallway when we...when he...

What, exactly? When Fenris attacked me with his mouth and ran away? When I was too chicken shit to grab him and make him explain himself to me?

_Ugh_. How embarrassing.

Of course, he might be talking about something else, something weird that I did on my own. Yesterday evening didn't necessarily mean last _night_; it could mean...that he saw me kill an assassin.

Maybe it was better that he just suspected me of snogging Fenris.

"Not usually," Kornyn replied cheerfully. "Slaves aren't allowed to do..." He shifted his head to the right in order to wiggle his eyebrows at me. "_Things_."

Definitely the snogging. I had to be sure, though, before I dug myself a grave.

I idly wondered what kind of flowers they would plant on my grave after they killed me for stepping out of line - nothing sappy, I hoped, and nothing too dreary.

I liked calla lilies, but it would probably be something stupid looking, like... like _mums_. Or _marigolds._

I growled beneath my breath; that line of thought would get me nowhere. I was a slave; they'd probably have me thrown me in a ditch or something, anyway.

Would mushrooms grow on me?

I wrinkled my nose.

_Fungus._

"What are you going on about, Kornyn?" I asked, avoiding the stones in my path as we entered a sizeable barn. He closed the massive door behind us so that the only light filtered in through a thin skylight above.

"I saw you last night," he said. "In the hallway."

You'd think that, me being from Ferelden, I'd be accustomed to the shitty smell that lingered in barns, but I doubted I would ever get the stench out of my nostrils. But at least Kornyn had cut to the chase quickly. "What do you want?"

Was he jealous of Fenris? I glanced him over. It wouldn't be hard to give him a kiss; he was handsome, by elf standards - he had calm yellow eyes and his hair was a pleasing, dusky color, his jaw more feminine than what I normally preferred, but his face still had an overall nice effect.

Furthermore, Kornyn was easy-going, which was a far-cry from Fenris - which meant he probably wouldn't run away afterwards...

Shaking his head, he motioned me closer. "You misunderstand," he said. "I wish no harm to you."

Right. "What do you want?" I repeated myself. If he didn't answer me soon, I would grant him a swift kick to the jewels instead of the kiss I had been contemplating. "I have no money, no real assets -"

"Did you know," Kornyn cut me off, "that Leto has been with us for ten years?"

With us? The Magister? "No," I said quietly. "I didn't know that." I didn't even know how old he was - why had Kornyn even bothered to _ask_? As far as he knew, I hadn't known Fenris for more than a day or two...

Oh, Maker.

I had kissed a man I hadn't even known for a week!

When I got home, I promised myself I would punch Isabela on her right tit for turning me into a wanton hussy.

I groaned. I _hated_ the word "hussy". It sounded dirty, like something you would spit out of your mouth after a long day of work.

The simile in my head didn't make the word sound any more appealing.

"Well, we grew up together, you know? I was young, he was young - most of our chores were shared between us.

"Like brothers, Svanna says," Kornyn continued. "Only he has the best motivation of any other slave his age."

"Motivation?"

"After ten years with him, I've never seen him carry any sort of romantic interest in any of the girls that have thrown themselves at him." He raised his hands at my sharp look. "Not that you threw yourself at him, mind you; most girls, however, don't have the decency to even speak with him first before they attack him."

"Your point?" If he had just called me here to talk my ear off and give me knowledge I didn't wish to know, then I had better things to be doing. Like sleeping.

_How many girls had thrown themselves at Fenris, exactly?_

"He's tough, you know?" Kornyn held up his fists, as if I couldn't grasp the concept of "tough" from his words. "Very strict. Never allowed himself any interest outside of his duties - like I said, he's got the motivation." He sighed, his hands wringing together. He wanted to say something; I knew that this rambling had to be for a reason.

I expected him to say what was on his mind - I almost urged him on, but after a few seconds, he just exhaled and smiled at me. "Want to learn what duties I perform at _Chateau Fausta_?"

I narrowed my eyes, but allowed him to change the subject.

The conversation wasn't over.

**-FW-**

"I feel so," I stretched out my legs, trying to think of a word to reconcile what I felt. "Lazy." I waited for the word to settle before I felt satisfied. Lazy - that was the word, the one that described my current position, sprawled out on the soft, cool grass underneath a widely spread tree.

This was the first relaxed moment I had had in a while.

Kornyn laughed at me. "We're working, you know."

"Then I could work all day." Scrubbing dishes would seem like hard labor after this.

"The sheep will scatter if left unwatched," he said, leaning onto his back and sighing. "You and I?" he said, motioning to the space between us. "We comprise the sheep security team."

"Won't Svanna be cross if she finds that I'm not cleaning floors?"

"Not if I tell her you were helping me in the fields," Kornyn said smoothly, running a hand through his dark hair. "Learning new tricks."

It was difficult to imagine a field growing in such a harsh condition, but as soon as I stepped onto the grass I felt magic at work. The grazing field was sustained my magic - most definitely the magister's own magic.

I found the thought tiring. Who would want to maintain a space as wide as this?

"What's her story, anyway?" Kornyn was so easy to speak with - he had a comforting, trustworthy face and an interesting personality that kept me wondering what he would say next.

I was wondering, mostly, because he still hadn't said what was _really_ on his mind. He was completely transparent, but I hadn't known him long. I bet if I brought Fenris out in the field and shoved him in Kornyn's direction, he would be able to tell me what he was thinking.

I sighed. _Fenris_.

What a confusing asshole. I shut my eyes, feeling the hot air blow across my face.

"Who?"

"Svanna." _Fenris, actually_. I still knew nothing about him.

My eyes snapped open. _I don't know anything about him_.

I finally realized the opportunity that had just landed itself in my lap - I could learn about Fenris - _the real Fenris, _Leto - and I could learn things that no living person South of Tevinter would have known otherwise!

_Talk about being in the right place at the right time_. I glanced at Kornyn thoughtfully out of the corner of my eye...

He and his fat mouth were going to be my two new best friends.

Kornyn smiled wistfully as a slow breeze ruffled a few leaves. "Her husband sold her into slavery after she became pregnant with another man's child."

I gaped at him. "Really?"

He nodded, chuckling at my reaction. "Truthfully."

"What happened to the baby?" I asked, sitting up.

He sat up as well. "Didn't make it," he said, leaning onto his elbow. "It was half human; most cross breeds can't make it beyond the womb. She was a servant underneath a Master Vibol, if I recall."

"That's awful," I breathed. "How long ago did this happen?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was bought by Magister Fausta at a young age, and still I know that Svanna was here before I. Who knows?"

We sat in silence a moment as another question bubbled behind my lips. Where did Fenris come from? Where was his family? How did he end up here?

I opened my mouth, ready to spit out the first question that came to mind, "Why -"

"Leto!" Kornyn yelled, sitting up and waving. "Your girl is over here!"

A bolt of lightning struck me and I froze, watching a rock sail through the air, narrowly avoiding Kornyn's head.

"That could have hit me, you a-" I sat up and scooted away just in time for Fenris to barrel through the grass and attack Kornyn, causing a few sheep to shift away in alarm. The two of them became a twisting mass of confused limbs as they quarrelled on the ground.

"What do you mean, _my girl_?" Fenris snarled, kneeing Kornyn in the ribs.

"I mean," Kornyn said, laughing, "the cute dish that's been glued to my side since this morning, you blighter!" A fist landed to his face, and I flinched.

_Maybe Fenris _does _have a friend._

The thought curled my lips. The expression was wiped from my face as they continued to maul each other.

I sighed as they continued punching and kicking. "Are you two done yet?"

Kornyn pushed Fenris off him and winked at me; I watched as a fresh bruise blossomed on his cheek. "Whenever you say, Lady Marian."

I rolled my eyes. Annoying as he was, Kornyn _was_ cute.

"Didn't she tell you not to call her that?" glared a panting Fenris. My eyes switched to his face only to catch him looking away.

I grimaced. _Ashamed of me already_?

"What are you two even doing out here?" Fenris asked, crossing his legs and still avoiding my eye.

"I'm showing her something new," Kornyn explained, shrugging. "She might be put on sheep duty one day."

Fenris snorted. "You'd have to die first," he said. "She knows this, right?"

"No, she doesn't," I said, feeling irritated that they were talking about me as if I weren't there. "She just followed Kornyn outside this morning and he's been talking her ear off since."

"Then why doesn't she offer a topic?" Kornyn volleyed.

"Because her life is boring," I said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"From what she's told me," Fenris said carefully, as if afraid of sounding too jovial. "Her life is..." _Fascinating? Intriguing? Remarkable_? "...noteworthy."

_Noteworthy?_

In the name of the Maker, what was _that_ supposed to mean?

_Can't win every battle, I suppose._

Still.

_Noteworthy?_

Was that even a_ compliment_?

"Tell us a story, then," Kornyn said, leaning back onto his arms. "I've been jabbering all morning, and it's high time you said something..." He shot a grin at Fenris. "..._noteworthy_."

Fenris scowled at Kornyn.

_I_ scowled at the both of them.

"Well," I said, casting about for a topic that would interest them. Fenris liked Isabela, right? "I met a pirate from Rivain, once," I said, hoping that would interest them.

"Who hasn't?" Fenris snorted.

Maybe he didn't like her as much as I thought.

"Go on, Mary," Kornyn said, smiling encouragingly. "Sounds interesting to me."

Face red, I glowered at Fenris. "Her name was Bela, and I met her in a bar in Kirkwall."

"A bar?" Fenris immediately asked, his dark brow furrowing. His hair looked a slight lighter than black in the open sunlight, but I couldn't be sure. "What were _you_ doing in a _bar_?"

"Visiting a beardless dwarf," I said, grinning mischievously. "But he is a different story. Bela, on the other hand, was wearing the least amount of clothes since -" I glanced down at my own pitiful smock. "Well, this." I pointed, sneering at the cheap fabric. It felt like a crime to wear it, but my legs, at least, were enjoying the hot air and sunshine - both things that were difficult to come by in Ferelden and Kirkwall.

"Bela was a captain of a ship called -" what was it called, again? "_The Siren's Call_. She used to be involved in several illicit operations..." I eyed them both, gauging how interested they were in my story. "Smuggling was one of them."

"What kind of smuggling?" Kornyn said, throwing me a bone. Fenris still seemed bored.

I shrugged. "The one that always snags in my memory is a time when she was told to smuggle cargo," I said, pausing for dramatic effect. "_Slave _cargo."

I was disappointed when this didn't surprise either of them.

So much for my dramatic effects.

"Did she get caught?" Kornyn asked, scratching his head. I shook mine.

"No, but when she found out what she had been told to smuggle, she set them free and risked the ire of her supervisor," I said, wishing that she had been around when I woke up inside of that wretched cage.

"She just set them free?" Fenris asked rhetorically, leaning on one elbow, his hand idly playing in the grass. "That wasn't very smart of her, was it?"

"They were _people_," I said, mouth hanging open. "People shouldn't be_ owned _by other people - it isn't _right_."

"Yet you are owned by a mage," Fenris sneered, teeth bared. "_I _am owned by a mage. Is it not the way of the world?"

"No, it _isn't_." What was his_ problem_? "We shouldn't have to answer to anyone but ourselves and the Maker. Tevinter is the only place in Thedas where slaves are freely bartered-"

"I guarantee that is not the case," he growled.

"I beg to differ," I retorted stiffly.

"Then you beg to be wrong!" he shouted, rising to his feet.

Kornyn cleared his throat, but we both ignored him, immersed in our heated discussion.

"You are such an untruthful bastard!" I screeched, rising to my own feet to stand with him, toe-to-toe.

"And _you_ are the goddess of altruism?" His jaw clenched as he grinded his teeth together. "No, do not even reply with your deceitful words!"

"_Deceitful?_" My jaw dropped as my eyes bugged. My palm itched to slap him for the accusation, but I refrained. "How can you even stand here and declare _me_ to be deceitful? I'd suggest turning that accusatory eye on yourself, elf, before you spout falsehoods at others."

"Then tell me," he challenged. "Look me in my eye and _honestly_ tell me that you haven't deceived anyone since you have arrived."

I blinked, curling back on my heels as if I had been lashed. I opened my mouth to reply in a flurry of anger, but my mouth closed.

I _had_ been deceiving them. All of them, in fact. None of them knew my mage identity; they all believed me to be a normal human being.

_What an ass! I can't even have a simple conversation with him without sparking an argument!_

A grim look entered Fenris's expression. "So I am correct," he muttered, stomping away. Sand gusting from the wind blurred his form the further away his feet took him; I hadn't even noticed the wind had begun to blow.

"Fenris!" I called. "I am _not_ a liar!" He didn't turn around, so I yelled louder. "_Everybody_ has secrets!"

I coughed as I gasped in a lungful of flying sand, my smock fluttering in the wind.

"Leto!" Kornyn called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Looks like a flash storm is brewing; I could use some help over here!" He grabbed my arm, yanking me over to a group of sheep. "Snatch up some of these fuzzballs, will you?" He pushed me in the direction of the flock and darted over to a crouching sheep not far away, baying into the sandy wind. "Take them to the barn," he said, angling his head toward the building. "We need to get them out of this storm before it has a chance to escalate."

I nodded and grabbed a sheep by its legs, like Kornyn was doing. He kicked a smaller one in front of him, nudging it towards the sanctuary of the building. I had to squint my eyes to keep the dust out; the wind picked up my smock and flung sand at my bare skin, marking it with red splotches.

I was panting by the time I reached the barn, spitting grit from my teeth. "What's going on?" I asked Kornyn, watching him tie a ratty handkerchief around his mouth. His voice was muffled when he replied.

"Sandstorm," he said, heading to the door. "And a nasty one, at that. Fast approaching and dangerous things, sandstorms." He slipped outside the barn, shutting me in with the rescued sheep.

I grabbed a 'kerchief of my own and covered my mouth, heading back onto the field. I chased down a spooked animal, grasping it tightly. My eyes watered as the wind battered me with gravel, nearly knocking me over with the force. It took great effort to move my legs toward the barn again; a few times I had to kneel down to prevent being knocked onto my ass by the wind.

Kornyn carried the sheep in twos - one underneath each arm. I set my own sheep down in the building and immediately turned around, scouting to see if there were anymore. Kornyn was busy counting the flock behind me.

I spotted a lamb far out, barely visible in the intensifying tempest. I sighed and tightened my 'kerchief, running for the far side of the field.

"Marian!" I heard Kornyn yell, but the sound was drowned by the din of the storm. I shut my eyes, ducked my head, and ran for the baby.

I yelped when the wind knocked me onto my knees, having to crawl the remainder of the way. The skin on my legs split from the hard sand as I was barraged from all sides by the biting granules that scraped my skin, drawing tiny pinpricks of blood. I wrapped my arms around the lamb and clung for dear life, not knowing where the wind would take me if it blew any harder and unable to see the barn with all the sand blurring my vision.

A curse filtered through the sand to my ears, and then arms grabbed my waist. "Let's go," Fenris barked, pushing me hastily forward, dragging me upwards. I couldn't see where we were going, so I trusted Fenris and my legs to carry me there safely.

We crashed into a small utility building that was on the far end of the field. I couldn't remember walking so far away from the barn. Fenris slammed the door behind us with his bare foot; we panted in the cramped space, the lamb fighting against my hold until I released it. It _ba-ah_ed and shifted away from me as I sank to my hands and knees, brushing beads of sweat from my brow.

"Thanks," I breathed, out of breath.

"Don't mention it," he returned in a similar state.

I patted the lamb on the back, leaning my head against a low shelf. "You came back," I stated, rubbing dirt from my eyes. "Why?"

He groaned, running his fingers through his dust-encrusted hair. "I couldn't let helpless animals suffer from your inability to care for them."

I sighed, resting my head on my knees. "Thank you," I said again, closing my eyes. "You could have left me there."

I felt, rather than saw him stiffen. My eyes opened slowly to see him sitting rock-still, glaring at the wall.

"I'm not so much of a monster that I could watch you suffer through that," Fenris muttered, not meeting my eye.

"Then why do you act like it?" I questioned, scratching filth from my bare legs. It was hot and dry in the small shack; the wind whistled though the slats in the walls, and I could hear the constant pattering of sand against the grain.

He sighed irritably, changing the subject. "Why do you deceive us?" he asked, his green eyes swiveling to my own.

"Because I have to," I whispered, sucking in my cheeks, willing myself not to slip in my deception.

Fenris was very perceptive - too much so. He wouldn't understand if he knew; if there was anything I had learned about Fenris over the years, it was that he despised mages.

"For what point?" he asked plainly, stretching his leg out. His foot bumped my knee, but I didn't retract it.

I stared at his face for a moment, debating with myself.

_Fenris hates mages, it's true._

_But does Leto?_

"It's better that some things are left unsaid." I grimaced and cast my eyes onto the walls. Rusted equipment hung on shelves; nothing looked as if it had been used recently. "Why do _you_ deceive us?"

"Me?" he asked, surprised and angered. "I do no such thing."

"You pretend to be an asshole," I stated bluntly. "There are incongruencies with your behavior - one minute your lashing out, and the next, you're -"_flirting with me in a hallway -_ "saving me from death by sandstorm."

_Or snogging me in the dark._

He grunted. "You would rather I left you out there?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I only wish that you would be more...upfront."

"What does it matter?" Fenris said bleakly. "Nothing changes. We are still slaves; the only difference truthfulness would bring is camaraderie." I turned my eyes to see him frown, his face defeated. "It would only make it harder to punish you, should you step out of line." He sighed again. "Which is inevitable."

"I think it would make a world of difference," I said, scooting closer and tucking my legs beneath my bottom. "Sharing burdens with others is a part of life. No one man can carry the weight of the world on his shoulder."

"And what of you?" he challenged, raising his chin. "Would you carry an immeasurable burden upon you?"

I chuckled. "I said _man_. A woman is perfectly capable."

The strangest thing happened, then.

Fenris actually _laughed_. Not a full chuckle, but a small chortle. A bright smile lit my face. When his eyes met mine, his face wiped of all pleasure and became alarmed at my expression.

I giggled at his reaction, rubbing my hands together and sprinkling sand on my knees. "How long do sandstorms around here normally last?"

"Perhaps an hour," Fenris said dully.

"Is the prospect of spending an hour with me really so intimidating?" I asked, still smiling at him.

His eyes rolled. "Hardly," he snorted. "You are a mere irritant."

"I've been upgraded," I said cheerfully, stretching my own legs out. When he shot me a mildly questioning look, I answered. "I went from being _Ferelden Wench_ to _Mere Irritant_. I seem to be garnering your favor."

I was rewarded with another short chuckle. "You'll be _Slave Girl_ in no time."

Inhaling, I crossed my arms over my chest, holding my filthy smock in place. "Is that what you think of me?" I wondered. "Just _Slave Girl_?"

"It's all I _should_ think of you," he said soberly, all traces of a grin washing from his face. "It's all you _should_ be, to me."

"But I'm not, are I?" I had never asked much of Fenris; every request I ever made of him was well-intentioned and modest. I valued his company over everything; even when our personal relationship failed, I still desired to cling onto the shreds of our friendship.

In the end, not even that was enough to hold us together. He stopped talking to me, pretended to be out when I visited. I saw him a few times when he agreed to take a job with me, but other than that...

"No," he agreed, frowning. "You are an anomaly."

I snorted. "That sounds better than being _noteworthy_."

Fenris groaned, but didn't reply.

Silence filled the shack for a few moments, the only sounds being of the weather outside.

"What will the Magister do to increase her security?" I asked, angling my head to look at him again.

He sat still, staring at the door. "Increased guards on duty," he said blankly. "More hours."

I wrinkled my nose. Even _less_ sleep?

Maker forbid.

"Will your work be increased?" I asked, curious.

"Yes," he replied, shutting his eyes.

"What reward did you receive?"

His eyes snapped open. "Reward?" he asked, trying the word out.

"Yes," I responded, curling my legs beneath me in a more comfortable sitting position. "For killing the man."

"I didn't kill the man," Fenris said immediately.

I groaned. "But she _thinks_ you did. Why don't you ask her to not increase the hours you're on duty?"

"Because it's her decision." His brow furrowed. "I cannot question the Mistress's decision."

My head _thunk_ed against the wall after his words were out. Did he really consider himself to be less of a person for being a slave? Less valuable?

He deserved a reward, damn it, even though he wasn't the man of the hour last night. _Or woman, for that matter_. "I thought she promised you a reward," I said, pouting.

"It will probably come in the shape of a hot bath," Fenris said, grimacing. "Which I could sincerely use right now."

My lips curled when I saw his skin and clothes completely covered in grime. I was in the same position; I had no right to judge, but he looked...

Gross.

"You look nasty," I pointed out, holding in my smile. "Smell bad, too." I plugged my nose.

"You're one to talk," he said, but it was without bite. He closed his eyes again.

"Fenris?" I asked tentatively after a few minutes of silence. He grunted in reply. "Can you guess how old I am?"

His eyes opened again, an irritable glint to them. "You don't know your own age?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. I had no idea what age this body was; some of the scars I had received fighting darkspawn were oddly missing, and my hair wasn't as short as I was accustomed to having it trimmed. "There's never time to look in the mirror, and I haven't counted for a while..." I trailed off, glaring at the floor. "Never mind, it was a stupid question."

I heard him shift, and looked up to see him rubbing his head. "Ten and seven," he said finally.

Seventeen? Did I really seem so young?

I finally found my voice after a few minutes. "Just ten and seven?" I asked, suspicious.

He glared at me. "Would you call me a liar?"

"I haven't already?" I smiled, stretching my arms. "I'm sure it'll come out of my mouth sometime. Maybe even in the company of _asshole_ and _dirtbag_."

He rolled his emerald eyes at me. "I would hope not. You already commented on my lack of fine odor."

"Oh, you've got odor, all right."

I wondered just what he would classify this conversation as. He already said that he didn't want a friendship; it would only be harder for him when his duty came calling.

Then, what? A brief interlude to a long relationship of hatred?

His austere face glowed in the darkness of the shack. I sighed, my eyes automatically tracing the path of his nonexistent markings.

_Am I so accustomed to them?_

"Why are you staring at me?" Fenris asked abruptly, tone angered. I immediately removed my gaze from him.

"I wasn't staring," I lied, swallowing thickly. I wished I could hear what he was thinking. Fenris was altogether too confusing - one moment we were pals, and the next we were enemies. Eager to change the subject, I latched onto the argument we had previously had. "Do you really think that slavery is an acceptable way of life?"

I sensed the wind dying down outside. The storm had been powerful, but brief. It had blown over quickly, faster than I had anticipated. It wouldn't be long before we had no reason to remain in the shack.

I wasn't sure whether or not to be glad or disappointed about that fact.

"If it wasn't acceptable, we wouldn't be slaves," he said, standing. I watched him as he moved to grab the lamb by the flesh of its collar. I stood right behind him, and we bumped into each other in the confined space.

"You've never imagined freedom?" I asked, doubtful. "You've never pondered the sheer possibility-"

"What would be the point?" Fenris snapped. "It would only breed disappointment."

He flung the door open and marched out. The wind still blew sand across the field, and piles of dirt were piled everywhere as litter, but that didn't deter him from walking away.

I was right on his heels. "So, according to you," I said tersely, my short legs working to keep me in pace with his long strides, even with the lamb in tow. "It's better to just take it? To not hope?" I wrinkled my nose, my bare feet burning against the hot sand. "That's shit, Fenris, and you know it."

"Is it?" He barked out a laugh. "You don't understand. Not yet. You will, with time."

"I don't _want_ to understand," I said, grabbing his arm and holding him still. He glowered darkly at me, from my hand on his arm to my face. "Not that logic."

"Release me," Fenris said, voice low.

"No," I said stubbornly, raising my chin. "I don't think I will. You're just a _slave_, after all."

"Your concept of freedom does not exist, Ferelden," he snarled, yanking his arm out of my grasp. He released his hold of the lamb, and I stooped down to keep the small sheep from escaping. Fenris stepped closer, until my eyes were level with his legs and he was standing directly above me, blocking my skin from the scorching noonday heat. "Do you want to know what freedom is?"

He kneeled, looking me straight in the eye. I didn't flinch at his intensity, or the tight air swirling around us. I stared him in the face, trying to find a hint of emotion that would betray his genuine feelings.

"Freedom is a story they tell to children to help them sleep, a dream for the discontent slaves to bear. It is weight that drags down performance. Freedom is the fictitious rambling of a Ferelden _wench_ that doesn't know her place, her role in society.

"Real freedom does not exist. Freedom, to the common man, means that you aren't currently tied to a magister." He shook his head in disgust, rising, his harsh gaze still on mine. "That is not freedom. There is always fear. Always someone else to control and manipulate your actions.

"Nothing is free. Even your life is an allowance at a mage's whim."

This couldn't be Fenris. I stared at his face, hoping, _believing_ that these words weren't his, but rather a set of beliefs ingrained upon his mind his entire life, but all I could see were his hard, green eyes.

_Leto the Slave definitely hates mages, even if he doesn't realize it yet._

"I'm sorry you see things that way," I said sadly. He tore his gaze away and furiously stalked his way to the mansion. "I believe that freedom means more than that, Fenris," I called after him.

"Then you aren't worth my time," Fenris shouted over his shoulder, leaving me in the field. I grasped the lamb tighter to me, holding it still and biting my bottom lip to quell the minute trembling.

The sun was blistering in the sky. I sighed and stood, walking over to the barn where Kornyn was releasing the full flock once again. I let the lamb go, watched him prance over to his mother and nip at her shoulders.

Kornyn met my eyes with a pitying smile, and I shook my head.

I didn't want his pity.

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><p><strong>What household chore do you hate the most?<strong>


	6. 05 The Little Mage, Part 1

**One reviewer thinks that folding laundry is awful, another despises having to clean the pool, one hates cleaning the bathroom and ironing, and someone hates **_**every**_** chore.**

**gonefast and I...we hate dishes.**

**Warning: Chapter** NSFW.

* * *

><p><em>We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows. <em>

_Robert Frost_

* * *

><p><strong>05: The Little Mage, Part 1<strong>

Kornyn relaxed; for him, it was as if the storm never happened. I wasn't so lucky. All I could hear was Fenris's declaration of blatant dislike ringing in my ears.

I patted Kornyn on the head and dazedly walked to the mansion, feeling the need to numb my mind with tedious tasks. Everything was too much - I had too much nonsense clouding my thoughts.

When I entered the foyer, stunned and alarmed, a little stranger caught my hand, sobering me and bringing me to the present.

_You can't change fate, _I chanted, trying to calm my nerves.

"Pana," I said in surprise, feeling her long fingers wrap around mine. "I'm sorry, I got caught up in -" I waved my hand in the direction of the pasture, the pitiful area of grass where the sheep would graze that had been sand blasted. "That..._mess_." I offered her a withered smile, feeling uncomfortable and filthy in a light coating of dirt. "You understand, right?"

She smiled and nodded, pulling me away from the foyer and into the kitchens, leading me straight past my workspace and down the hall to the slave room.

I needed a better name for our sleeping quarters - _slave room? _It sounded like...

A garish room full of dominatrix furniture.

I shuddered at the thought of sleeping in such a place.

"I have a secret," she whispered once making sure we were alone.

"Me, too." A great many secrets, in fact. Some unpleasant.

Nearly all unpleasant.

Pana's pale hand released my own and she hugged my waist tightly - tightly enough that I winced.

"You got hurt," she said, ghosting her hand over the bandage Fenris had applied the night before.

"It only stings a little," I said, patting her blonde curls. "Especially when I'm _squeezed_."

And then the strangest thing happened.

A light appeared beneath Pana's hand - a light that sank into my side, snuggling warmth against the thin cut and healing the slice on the surface of my skin.

When she lowered her hand, I realized with a sinking feeling that Pana and I were kindred spirits in a bad, bad place.

She didn't say anything, only gazed up at me with her round, lime eyes and a trusting, fearful expression that twisted in my stomach. She counted me as an ally.

I would not betray her trust.

When she found me earlier, her only thought must have been at how similar we were; how dangerous our predicament was. I wondered if she even _considered_turning me in. Would she have gotten a reward for turning in a mage?

I took her hand back in mine and squeezed, not knowing of anything I could say. I had never been expert at haggling with my own emotions; I couldn't fathom having to straighten out the knot that I felt right then, especially with Pana's watchful, perceptive eyes on me. Waiting. Expecting.

Trusting.

It was hard enough to think all of this through, so I didn't even spare a second thought to my words.

"Is it time for lunch yet?"

**-LM-**

Pana and I were the first two people to reach the mess hall when it was time to begin serving. The kitchen that was gifted to the slaves was much smaller than the one the Mistress's food was served from, and had much less staff involved.

Well, the staff _ate_ the food, so perhaps they _were _involved. But most weren't working. A cook or two was in the kitchen, whipping up some brick-hard bread and hot oats.

Yum.

I pulled Pana to a table in the corner and we both sank into a stool. I wiggled on my seat, the hard wood uncomfortable. I felt sticky and disgusting, but at that moment, there was nothing else that I wanted to do more than eat.

Except have a nice bath, but I didn't foresee that happening in the near future.

Pana smiled across from me, watching me fidget. I hadn't spent much time in the mess hall; usually Svanna was there, shuffling us in one door and through the other. I had never actually sat _down_to eat lunch, and we only had opportunity to eat once a day.

I wiggled some more, grinning as I saw her cover her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle.

"I'm tired," I complained, stretching my hands above my head. "Did you sleep well last night?"

Pana nodded her head, leaning her chin onto the table.

"Where do you sleep?" I asked, curious.

She smiled bashfully, ducking her head.

"You won't tell me?" I probed, smiling at her coy nature. She quickly nodded, but looked away. "Will you show me tonight, so I won't step on you?"

She nodded, blonde curls bouncing.

"I've never seen Kornyn or Fenris in there," I pondered, leaning onto the hard table.

"Fenris?" Pana whispered, confused.

I blushed; I _knew_ Fenris wasn't his real name. I had to accept the strange looks I received from calling him Fenris. "I, uh, you know him as_ Leto_."

Pana paled, leading me to assume that _Leto _frightened her. "He guards the Mistress," she said quietly, sitting up when a few other elves shuffled into the mess hall.

"All _night_?"

She shrugged. He couldn't possibly watch her all night, could he? I would have to interpret what she said differently. Odds were good that she had heard Svanna or someone say something similar and she was merely repeating the words.

"What do you think of him?" I asked as the heat began to retreat from my face.

She looked up. "Leto?"

I nodded, crossing my arms on top of the table. "Do you like him?"

Pana stared at me intently, reading my face in the perceptive way she had. "You like him," she said, mirroring my posture.

"I do," I said after a brief pause. I didn't _not_ like him. "But I was asking _you_."

She glanced down at the shabby table, thinking hard. A small crease formed on her brow, and I smiled at how cute she was. "He protects us," she said, her lip popping out.

"And?"

"And," she paused. "He's sad." She frowned, as if no one should ever be sad.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, completely interested in her opinion.

I loved kids. They were so easy to understand.

Not like a certain adult elf, who was very difficult to understand.

"He's here all alone," she said, looking down.

"You think he's lonely?" I cocked my head. Shit, _I_ thought he was lonely. After all, I told him he didn't have any friends.

I wrinkled my nose. _That may be why he doesn't like you, Hawke._

Pana sighed wistfully as the smell of baking bread wafted over us. "Yes. Leto is lonely."

"That's why you don't like him?" I smiled at her, yawning thickly and feeling my eyes water.

"I like Kornyn better," she defended, giving an infectious yawn of her own after the words.

I chuckled. "I think I do, too." Kornyn was easier to get along with, anyway. "He's very friendly."

She nodded, happy that we agreed on something. "He sleeps in the barn."

"I could see him doing that," I mused, laying my head on the table. "What do you think about me, then?"

Contemplating her answer, she laid her own head beside mine, pursing her pink lips. "You're a nice person," she finally said.

"That's it?" I raised my eyebrows. "No '_you're a bumbling fool',_ or '_you're a bad slave_'?"

She grinned at me, a blush on the apples of her cheeks.

So she _did _think I was a bad slave.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, girly." My mirth died away when I thought of our unique predicament, and I was suddenly curious as to how trained as a mage she was. "Does anyone else..._know_?" I whispered.

Her eyes were confused until they met mine; she grasped my meaning quickly and shook her head vehemently, eyes wide. "Papa said they would _get _me." She said this with all seriousness and a twinge of fright.

The way she said it, I wouldn't want anyone to get_ me_, either.

"Papa?" I asked obtusely. "Where is your Papa?"

She frowned, staring at the wood of the table. "Papa went away. He said that I was dangerous, that I shouldn't ever show anyone what I can do." Panic filled her eyes and they shot up to mine. "You won't tell, will you?"

I shook my head, calming her. I was surprised that she would have even trusted me with the information, since she had been told specifically not to. "I'm in the same boat as you, I'm afraid. I can't tell anyone, either." I huffed. "They'd take me away, for sure."

But to the loony bin or prison...who knows?

They began serving food, so I stood. "Let's go, Short One," I said, tugging her long hair. I wondered why she wasn't made to wear it pinned up like the other slaves. We grabbed our food and she quickly gulped down her bread, then eyed mine when I ate too slow. I rolled my eyes and tossed it to her, hoping she'd grow to be big and tall with my contribution to her diet. "I've got dishes to wash soon. Same time tomorrow, all right?"

**-LM-**

Everything is awkward when you are being watched.

Or brooded over, as I was being. His eyes followed me incessantly when we were in the same area, and whenever I managed to catch his eye, I always found a contemplative gaze that didn't agree with me.

Turns out, this Fenris wasn't fancying me as well as I had hoped.

In fact, if I would be so bold to admit it to myself, he appeared to be..._repulsed _by me.

Which was fine.

I wasn't really feeling _him_, either.

I was more interested in the things Kornyn had to say during the day, in the snuggles Pana and I would share as we tried to find our rest at night.

She slept under a massive closet; there was a small, cozy space underneath our mostly empty wardrobe that she wedged herself into each night and insisted I follow suit.

Who was I to judge? I had been sleeping propped up in the corner.

Sleep came easier with her nearby, and the closet offered some cover, feigning enough solitude to put me at ease. It was like being on a ship again, having to share personal boundaries with everyone around me.

Bit of annoying, but bearable.

Kind of like the recent Fenris staring act.

He would never really offer conversation, but I could always sense when his eyes were on me, day after day.

I was still awaiting my apology, even though I was uncertain if it would come in the form of words from him. He had snapped at me, declared me beneath him.

That didn't stop him from bugging the hell out of me when I was trying to work; however, the past few days, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. I wondered if he had given up on the routine of glaring at me, but some part of me wasn't sure if I wanted to know what kept him away from my sight.

I was dusting the surfaces in the library when I finally felt the heat of his gaze on my back once more.

"Is there something you should be doing?" I asked Fenris over my shoulder as I dusted off a brass lantern, hearing the combustive fluid sloshing inside the canister. Whenever I said things like that, there was always a part of me that recognized that I _didn't want_ him to leave; the words merely felt appropriate to say. Teasing came naturally, so I played him on instinct.

Fenris grunted, and the slound slurred through his throat uncharacteristically. I paused.

He was _anything_ but lazy - especially when it came to his distaste for myself. Though I supposed if I thought about it more, he couldn't be_ too _displeased with me - he _had_kissed me of his own volition.

I touched my fingers to my lips, as if I could feel his pressing against the curved flesh I found there. For the thousandth time, I wondered what he meant by it. Was it random? Did it mean something?

Had he just wanted to shut me up?

I had to admit that I couldn't blame him. Carver always complained about me talking too much.

_And apparently you aren't even worth his time._

My head angled toward him so I could see his face from the corner of my eye. "Well, Fenris?" I goaded, trailing my gaze up his lithe form. He was absolutely dashing in his black, baggy wool pants; they were exactly opposite from his sleek leggings that I was accustomed to seeing him in - in the future.

I blinked my eyes. The future. Right. Because I was in the past.

Or tripping on some chemical that came from a gem in the bowels of an antique store.

My eyes traced up the front of his shirt - it looked just as scratchy and uncomfortable as my smock, though sadly, not as revealing. It was also an unfortunate gray color that clashed with his marvelous olive skin tone, and I had the desire to tear it off of him before I shrugged back that insane whim.

_He's an ass, Marian. Treat him like an ass._

_But Maker, is he sexy._

I trailed up the line of his throat, vacantly missing the curved white lines that would tease me with their presence on his skin. It disturbed me how badly I missed the recognition with Fenris; I missed his white hair, I missed his markings, I missed his wry humor...

What I missed most, though, was his name. It was strange to hear everyone refer to him as _Leto_, but I supposed that couldn't be helped. It _was_ his name, after all. Even so, with me being the only one calling him _Fenris_ all the time, it sounded like I had developed a pet name for him.

My eyes met his and widened.

"Fenris," I admonished, setting the lantern down and rising from my stooped position to approach him. "Have you been getting enough sleep?"

I remembered what Pana had said about Fenris protecting the mistress, and Fenris's own words about increased guard hours.

His eyes shut and he grunted again, but the sound fell soft in his throat. I inspected the deep purple bruises underneath his eyes and shuddered.

Why hadn't I noticed these before? They were quite disturbing, and he appeared to be completely run down with fatigue.

He would be doing no one a service in this condition. I sighed. "Fenris, when was the last time you slept?"

His eyes opened with effort and he glared at me half-heartedly, enough to make a point. _He didn't enjoy my probing._ I raised my hands. "Just trying to clarify, I promise." I squinted at him, scrutinizing his face. Fenris took a stumbled step backwards, nearly tripping over thin air until I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him back upright.

I heard the fabric stretch and was abruptly panicked that I may _actually_ rip his shirt off of him. It was a fight to keep him straightened, and eventually I settled with having him lean heavily on me, his head lolling on my shoulder. I groaned. "Fen-_ris_, you are a stubborn bastard." I adjusted my grip on him. "Where do you normally sleep?"

"Chair," he mumbled, fighting to stay awake, blearily blinking his eyes. He couldn't even manage his mandatory scowl.

"There is no way beneath the Maker's sun that I'm going to leave you in a _chair_," I chastised. Dick or not, it was a pain in the neck to sleep that way. I knew from my nights of sleeping perched against the corner in the slave chambers how uncomfortable it was, and even though he was exhausted, I couldn't let him suffer through it.

I was too nice for my own good.

We inched our way through the door of the lounge where I had been dusting, his knees wobbling the entire way. I had never seen him so vulnerable before; I wondered briefly why he had found his way to my presence, but thought better of it.

_He's probably just reverting to his favorite pastime of glaring at me while I work._

"Pana?" I called softly so as to not alert anyone nearby. Wouldn't it be strange for the new slave to be seen escorting a defenseless guard around the mansion? I groaned as his weight bore down heavily upon my shoulder. Pana appeared from behind a luscious, green-colored chair, her hair pulled behind her ears in a long ponytail. It made her neck, chin, and cheekbones seem petite and fragile; I smiled at her, even as her eyes widened at the sleep-deprived Fenris.

Pana was always near; I knew that she requested jobs alongside my own.

My little mage.

"Will you fetch me a blanket, please? Meet me on our hallway." She scurried away, and Fenris grumbled on my shoulder.

"Unnecessary," rumbled from his white lips.

"It isn't unnecessary," I disagreed. "And you are in no position to declare such things, Sleepy Head."

Fenris growled low and unintelligibly in my ear in retaliation, bringing a smile to my face.

I found the response...unwillingly _cute_.

I would definitely chew him out for his neglectful sleeping habits (among other transgressions) eventually, but my concerns at that moment was getting him to a dark, secluded place so he could rest undisturbed.

We limped together in a poor rendition of a three-legged race to the wing of the house that housed the slaves. I found that it was appropriately dim outside the manor when I peeked past one of the bare windows gracing the hallway. I trusted one of the other guards would watch over Fausta for the night - Fenris would be utterly useless in his state of exhaustion.

He wavered on my shoulder, his muscles contracting and loosening repeatedly. I held him as firmly as I could with my arms around him, watching his face for anything alarming. His head dropped to my shoulder as he stumbled a step, taking me with him.

"Fenris!" I hissed, yanking him upright. "Stop acting the fool," I ordered, pulling him to me. His arm gripped my waist, his brow furrowing heavily. "What's wrong with you?"

"Dizzy," Fenris said, inhaling deeply and shaking his head.

"You need to take better care of yourself," I admonished idly, glancing around. _Where to take him?_ He was never seen in the slave room; if I brought him there, it would cause unrest. "You have more than just yourself to think of, after all. You're responsible for the well-being of the inhabitants of this estate." I had noticed how the others normally regarded him; the only slave who wasn't frightened by his surly demeanor and assignment was Kornyn.

And now me.

"You shouldn't push yourself," I said. I hoped he had other friends within the meager guard of the manor. Otherwise, his friend-to-foe ratio was just sad. "Etcetera, etcetera." I wanted to wave my hands around in a gesture to insert spice into my ramblings, but didn't want to lose my grip on him.

I thought back to my first day in the manor, how he had dragged me into the roomy storage closet - it was a little dusty, sure, but it was dark and rarely used after nightfall. Certainly not ideal, but it would do.

Pana finally showed her face beside me, and my arm tightened around Fenris's waist. He wasn't as heavy as his imposing, lanky frame promised he would be. I assumed that if he didn't hunch over all the time, he would be a full foot and a half taller than I. He felt thin in my arms, and I worried suddenly about how well he was fed in comparison to how many calories he burned.

I rolled my eyes at myself. _You aren't his mother; it isn't your place to worry about what he's eating. He eats what everyone else eats. Or whatever the guard eats._

Had I ever seen him eat?

In any case, it would be nice to see more meat on his bones. I contemplated this wish as I led him to the storage area; Pana, the little helper that she was, opened the door for us.

I kicked aside a few crates and mentally prepared myself.

"I'm going to set you down, Fenris," I warned quietly, relinquishing most of my hold on him. As he staggered forward, I bended my knees and elbows to anchor him down. "You're _really_ out of it, aren't you?"

I attempted to lay him down as gently as possible, but his head still bumped the hard floor. Pana and I both winced, sharing a look.

"You're going to have to sleep by yourself tonight, Pan," I regretfully informed her. She nodded, handing me the blanket she was able to salvage; it wasn't much, but it would ward off the chill of the night in the sealed room. She hugged my waist and left me alone with a passed out Fenris, bathing us in darkness with the click of the door.

I scratched my head, sitting by a crate near him, propping myself up against it. He was out cold, his hair draping over his face as he rested. I brushed a lock from his eyelids with a finger, feeling the soft texture of the strands and pushing them from his face.

I couldn't recall ever seeing him so peaceful. It made me smile, though the gaunt in his cheeks and the bruises beneath his lids were disturbing. I moved from the crate I had been leaning against and carefully maneuvered my way to his opposite side, to the wall. Inching closer and settling on the dusty floor, I gave into one of my present desires and lifted his head into my lap to stroke his hair.

I liked him best in his sleep. He didn't scowl, or grunt, or sneer, even though he stilled confused me. I doubted that feeling would ever disappear; confusion would always be held synonymously with Fenris. His lips pouted as his breathing deepened, and I ran my thumb across the bottom of his mouth, feeling the softness beneath my finger.

My hand trailed up his cheek to continue stroking his hair; I scratched his scalp lightly with my nails as I wondered why he had sought me out. He must have been completely dazed to have chosen _me_ to go to in his exhaustion, but I couldn't deny that he had chosen wisely. I would take care of him. I would take care of anyone who came to me for help.

_Within reason_.

True, he was significantly heartless, but he couldn't be completely terrible - I refused to believe I would be attracted to a monster, albeit a handsome one.

I surmised, with all the information at hand, all the instances where we had been together - first him sparing me the whip, then kissing me, speaking with me, growing easily frustrated with our exchanged words, and now coming to me for help (even though he never outright _asked_ for my assistance, I knew he wouldn't have ended up in my presence if he hadn't meant to) - that he must feel something for me.

I also understood that he didn't comprehend a smidgeon of those feelings. There would be no blame cast upon him. After all, I could say the same thing of myself. I chuckled faintly in the dark, leaning my head onto the crate behind me.

What an odd pair we made.

A soft snoring erupted from my lap, and my smile widened. I had never noticed that he snored - the last time we had slept together -

Teeth bit into my lip. The _only_ time he had slept together. Technically, we hadn't even slept. He had left too soon for sleep to settle into our bones.

_Rough, steel-clad hands clasped mine, biting into my tender skin. My eyes registered a bright flair of cerulean light before my back was slammed against the stone wall, my head glancing off the surface painfully. My fingers were gripped hard as I was pressed, unrelenting, into the wall by the man before me._

_I saw green lit by fading blue; watched his anger drain from his face, changing - distorting - into something else. Something my body recognized before I registered it intellectually._

_He panted hard, his grip changing. He was going to release me._

_He was going to leave._

_I couldn't allow that._

_His hooded eyes opened wide as I violently reversed our positions, ramming him against the wall. All of the conflicting, confusing emotions I had felt within the last twenty-four hours crashed around me, and I realized that I _wanted_ this man._

_I realized that it was foolish._

_I realized that I may regret it._

_I realized that I didn't care._

_I pressed my open lips to his, parting them with my journeying tongue. I sucked his lip between my teeth, biting it hard as I ground my body to his, his firmness juxtaposing my curves. My breasts brushed the cold steel of his armor through my thin nightgown and I shivered at the sensation, dragging my lips across his jawline._

His magnificent, chiseled jawline.

_"Hawke," he grunted into my neck, grabbing my hips when I began sucking on his exposed skin. My nerves thrilled when his gauntlets duck into my flesh, teasing me with the brief, sharp pain. I moaned in pleasure when he roughly manuevered me against a rigid hardness below the jut of his belt._

_I dropped my hand from his shoulder to his groin, stroking him through the material. He grunted, gripping my hips tighter and thrusting to meet my hand._

_"Fenris," I breathed, hitching a leg around his waist and rubbing myself shamelessly on his armored hip. "_Maker_, Fenris, just take me," I begged, arching my back._

_His breath hitched as his palm slid to my ass and around my hip, brushing my robe aside. His finger slid into the dip between my legs, stroking me above my underclothes. He hissed at the wetness he found, his eyes blazing into mine. He reached down and lifted my other leg up around his waist, supporting me by my bottom as our lips met again, fighting for dominance, biting and sucking and bruising._

_My back was pressed to the cold stone wall again. I kicked at his leggings, annoyed by the barriers between his sex and my netherlips. Recognizing my want, he shimmied out of them while my arms wrapped around his neck, my lips sucking on his jaw, marking his skin with faint bruises. His clawed fingers wrapped around my own tight, thin leggings, ripping them at the seam._

_I made a startled sound - they were my _favorite tights _- until I realized that the tip of his length was rubbing _ohsotantalizingly_ around my folds, tormenting. Beads of sweat collected around my lower back; one of Fenris's hands cupped a breast while the other, I knew, angled his manhood._

_"_Fenris_," the cry of his name strangled on my lips as the head of him found my entrance. "_Now_." I hated not being able to force him inside of me - it was _torture_, knowing he was there, knowing he was mere millimeters away from my scorching, aching need._

_His hips jarred into mine, seating him inside with a single thrust and ripping a scream from the pit of my lungs. He began a rigorous pace, swiftly pulling out to the tip before ramming himself deep within again and again, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place and move my hips in tandem._

_My head was thrown back, an "_oh_" on my lips as I felt his heated breath on my neck. I clutched his shoulders, helpless to do anything but ride the sensations he inflicted upon my body._

_Our skin slid together with sweat, and my neck dropped my head down to watch our bodies slide together, our foreheads touching as we panted and moaned. My hips had a mind of their own, matching his thrusts in their erratic rhythm. I felt a tinge of pleasure burning deep within my stomach when he abruptly pulled out of me completely, dropping me onto shaking feet. I was momentarily confused until he pushed me over the bench in my foyer, sliding himself home again, making me squeal with the new position and depth._

_My pleasure mounted until it was an uncontrollable force; I cried out his name into his neck, feeling the front of his thighs slap the back of mine with every thrust. As I came down from my height, he pushed his cock in me tightly, grasping my hips in a near painful movement, spilling his seed within._

_I groaned when he left me, collapsing beside my quaking form on the bench a second later, sans-leggings. I chuckled at the sight, breathless but amused._

_When my body stopped shaking from the intensity and I could relatively stand, I slipped my robe from my shoulders. I undid his spiky gauntlets and he worked on the fastenings of his chestplate. Eventually we were both bare as the Maker made us, and I licked the skin of his collarbone, marveling at all of his beautiful ridges and markings. I ran a hand down the planes of his stomach, briefly dipping into his belly button, noting the lack of pubic hair and vaguely wondering if all elves lacked a certain amount of hair._

_I straddled his legs, purposefully grinding my still-wet core onto the skin of his thighs and grasping his thickening erection with my hand._

_His eyes rolled back into his head, and I licked a line on his chin, tracing it down his throat and up to the tip of his pointed ear. I noticed several bruises along the travel, born of my passion, and licked circles around the marks._

_"Ready for round two?" I whispered, positioning myself and pushing him back into my sex._

I shook my head, snapping out of my reverie.

_Great. Now I'm confused _and _sexually_ _frustrated_. I groaned, tossing the blanket over Fenris and easing his head from my lap. I crawled beside him, resting my body to his and pulling the cover over myself as well. He continued snoring, though now it was directly in my ear. I sighed, refusing my body's instinct to snuggle into his side.

_Enjoy the peaceful moment,_ I told myself. Nothing could ever come close to the sensation of sleeping at the side of a strong man. I smiled into the shabby blanket, shutting my eyes to mock contentment.

_He's going to be furious if he wakes to this._

The thought only made my smile widen as I drifted into sleep, my mind on sleepy elves and love marks.

**-LM-**

I ruefully awoke alone in the storage room several hours later, the musty blanket tucked around my body, another's warmth still present in the fabric.

I grinned and shut my eyes for a few extra minutes, imagining confronting him in my mind and then dashing all thoughts of it. I knew I wouldn't confront him about this, just as I knew I wouldn't confront him fully about the kiss.

I was going _so_ soft on that elf, and he didn't even know it.

* * *

><p><strong>Have you ever had a hickey?<strong>


	7. 05 The Little Mage, Part 2

***peeks from behind monitor*  
>*waves hesitantly*<br>*scurries away***

* * *

><p><em>He that is kind is free, though he is a slave; he that is evil is a slave, though he be a king. - Saint Augustine<em>

* * *

><p><strong>05. The Little Mage, Part 2<strong>

My life, for the most part, was composed of dishes and laundry.

A miserable existence, but an existence all the same.

After every meal, the chefs left the kitchen and I set to work. Some days there were a few others with me; other times I was alone. The only constant being myself, I could not determine the factor that changed who I worked with that day.

I always secretly hoped that Kornyn would swoop in and save me again, whisking me away to the field.

Maybe they didn't think me competent enough to perform greater duties.

Not that I complained. Dishes were easy.

Perhaps I would be upgraded to the sparse field in Fausta's back yard eventually.

I liked animals.

I was in the middle of a dish load, daydreaming about fuzzy sheep, when a chef entered. He pulled out several ingredients and pots and began to chop, his long face expressionless, pointed ears wiggling with the movement of his knife.

I stared at him for a few minutes, wondering at his sudden appearance in the kitchen.

Weird. It was already past the lunch hour.

Another chef entered a while later, and my interest increased - so much so that I forgot what my hands were supposed to be doing. It was not the right time of day for such work, and they _had_to be aware of this fact.

The baker entered, and I decided something was up. I put away all of the clean dishes and approached a chef, hurriedly mincing what appeared to be a sack of mushrooms.

Sweat trickled down his jaw.

I sniffed. _I_could cook. I tapped his arm, and he ignored me.

I took a step back.

Wavering between leaving and stepping up, I made up my mind and grabbed a knife, dumping mushrooms onto a cutting block. Mincing was no difficult task; after a handful of mushrooms, I moved faster, chopping at a quicker pace.

I felt eyes and me. Five of the cooks stared at me mutely.

I shrugged. _I can cook,_ I thought smugly.

The elf on the far left nodded and grabbed a head of cabbage and a single leek, depositing them before me. He switched my blade for a longer, sharper one and set to work on preparing the rest of his meal.

They moved in silence; they gave me more vegetables when they needed them, sometimes specifying with their actions how they wanted them cut. I wanted to ask why they were preparing food at such an odd time, but assumed that would not go over well with the skittish, silent elves.

Soon, the aroma of hot peppers and cooked fish flooded the kitchen, and my stomach growled. The chef nearest me glared at it.

As if I could help being hungry.

On cue, a flaxen haired elf pranced into the room, her green eyes honing in on me. She hurried over, frown straightening.

"Sorry," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth when she hugged my leg. "I got distracted." I had missed our lunch date - I wondered if there was even any food left for me.

She smiled up at me in forgiveness, and I moved to finish slicing a tomato so we could go check on the status of the slave food - and Maker _damn_was I beginning to feel hungry - when the baker behind me reached into the bottomless oven and pulled out tray after tray of fresh, hot cookies.

A tiny stomach growled. A few chefs left after switching the meals onto serving trays, taking them...wherever they were taking them.

I was still fuzzy on some of these details.

I was a few slices away from finishing my tomato when a chef entered and motioned to the last elf - the one who had prepared the cookies. They left quickly, the baker only taking one tray with him.

The silence that followed relaxed me to trust a more normal tone of voice.

"Have you ever eaten a cookie?" I asked, my voice hushed.

Pana made a negative sound, and I slid the chopping block over to the nearest station from me, sliced tomato on top. "Never?"

Pana frowned. I sighed, feeling my mouth water.

"Cookies are my favorite," I said wistfully, reminiscing the hours I had spent drifting around a kitchen, baking every cookie that Mother had a recipe for on hand. My parents had been furious whenever Bethany and I had used up all of the flour on the cookies, but I had arguably made the best damn cookies with what we were able to provide.

"I used to bake them all the time," I shared, leaning against the counter and staring at the trays and trays of cookies. The smell of sugar and nutmeg and _warmth_held fast in my lungs, taking me back to better days. "My sister and I would spend an entire day in the kitchen inventing new recipes. They remind me of home." I inhaled deeply, tasting the air.

"I bet they are good," Pana said, voice small. I had an overwhelming feeling for her, then, a compassion that couldn't be rivaled. A compassion that involved cookies, and Pana's consumption of said cookies.

"Take one," I said off handedly, grabbing another tomato to keep my hands busy.

_It's not like the hoity-toity magister needs an extra,_I rationalized.

Wide eyes glanced my way as a gasp struck the silence.

"What?" I asked, smiling down at my work, slicing away. "It's just a cookie," I said. "No one will miss just one."

She shook her head vehemently, jaw clenched.

I shrugged. "If you insist," I said, disappointed. Perhaps it was for the best - after all, I would have been unable to bear it if she had gotten into trouble. "You should go eat without me today," I said, reaching for yet another tomato. _What else was there to do besides chop?_"I don't think I will be able to make it."

And I would not be able to get the scent of gourmet food out of my nostrils; stiff bread and slate gruel would not sate this kind of hunger.

I missed home.

Pana frowned, ears drooping. I felt sorry; I wished she hadn't waited for me to begin with.

"Definitely tomorrow," I said, trying to lift her spirits. "I promise - if I can stay out of trouble, that is."

She nodded, her face brightening. She hugged my waist.

"Mary," greeted Kornyn, stepping lightly into the kitchen. His yellow eyes switched to Pana and he grinned. "Pan!"

Pana blushed and waved, hiding half of her face behind my stomach.

"Bashful now, are we?" Kornyn investigated, taking a deep inhale through his nose. "It smells like someone has been busy."

"The culinary squad has been cooking up a storm," I agreed. "What brings you here?"

"Starvation," Kornyn said cheerfully, eyes soaking in the sparse remains of food. "Had to skip lunch."

"You, too?" Not eating was a growing fad, it seemed.

_So is refusing to sleep,_ I thought to myself, remembering the fiasco with Fenris and his exhaustion. I still hadn't managed to confront him about his reasons for...whatever that was, but it wasn't high on my list of issues.

It was fun to think about, though.

_Hey, you know last night, when you nearly collapsed on top of me and we wound up sleeping beside each other? Yeah, what was up with that, exactly? Oh, and while we are on a similar subject, why did you kiss me all those nights ago? Was it the heat of the moment?_

_By the way, you are adorable when you sleep._

"I showed the carriages to the barn," Kornyn said confusingly.

"What?" I asked, running my fingers through Pana's hair. She had left it down today - most likely because I did not help her put it up that morning and no one else had pointed it out.

Everyone knew how sweet Pana was, and they could not bear to admonish her as they should. I was glad for that reprieve.

Kornyn sighed at me. "Our guests needed a place to leave their steeds," he explained slowly.

"Guests," I repeated blankly. "We have guests?"

"_Fausta_has guests," Kornyn corrected. "And Leto is glaring everywhere for you."

I sighed. At least I knew who the extra food was for. "Why am I not surprised?"

Fenris had taken to following me around _not so discreetly_ behind my back ever since he stormed away from Kornyn and me in the field. I could only wonder if his interest in me was only exacerbated by him passing out on me.

It was flattering.

It was annoying.

He frustrated me.

"He'll find you eventually," Kornyn warned happily. "He seems..." Kornyn grinned slowly. "Fascinated by you. It's interesting."

"Says the spectator," I grouched, hiding a smile.

"You like it," he teased, winking conspiratorially at Pana. She held her tongue, scrunching her face to hide the quirk of her lips. "Just admit that you like it when Leto-"

The door swung open and Kornyn paused.

"When I what?" Fenris demanded, his impeccable timing making itself known.

"Barge in on our conversations," Kornyn finished, smirking.

I chuckled. "Very cute, _Korn_."

"Whatever you say, Mary."

Fenris glanced from Kornyn to me, his face sour.

"If you two are finished-"

Another elf entered the kitchen through the door blocked by Fenris. "Marian," Svanna scolded, reaching for the two extra trays of cookies sitting on the counter adjacent to me. "You should not be in here."

"I was mincing," I defended, squeezing Pana's hand. "I was just about to visit the mess hall-"

"You will do no such thing," Svanna said, emptying the contents of the trays into a large glass bowl.

"I'm hungry," I complained, earning a sharp glare from her.

"You will dust the library," Svanna ordered, rushing by us to retrieve another decorative crystal bowl. "The Mistress may wish to retire there after her guests polish off their early supper."

"Can't do much when I'm starved, can I?" I grumbled, clutching my empty stomach.

"Accompany her, Leto," Svanna said as she dumped half a pan of cookies into the smaller bowl. "Be sure she stays out of trouble."

_Hurray__._

Svanna gave Pana the smaller bowl and tugged the short elf into step behind her. "Away with you," she commanded us, quickly exiting the room, Pana following her with a longing glance cast over her shoulder.

I groaned and set my knife on the discarded cutting board. I shot Kornyn an unenthusiastic look and he smiled sympathetically.

"Let's go, Fen," I said cheerlessly, leaving for the library.

**-II-**

The library was a room for thought, and that's what I was doing a lot of, lately.

Thinking.

Over thinking.

Back tracking.

Thinking some more.

Mostly about the more problematic issues at hand - the currently charged air between Fenris and I was notable, but not as important as the quiet companionship Pana and I shared.

In between washing dishes and laundry (and an occasional dusting - okay, _frequent_ dusting), I had grown fond of Pana, and I was unsure of why I was particularly drawn to her. There were other young elves around the mansion - not many, but they were there. Drehal, for example, was a boy that I saw quite often, but never bothered to offer him part of my meal or my bed. I chalked most of my attachment to Pana through our mutual issue...

Our mutual gift.

If Pana had been living in Magister Fausta's house most of her life, I wondered how exemplary a mage the Magister might be.

I mean, _two_ unregistered mages living beneath her roof and she could not even spot_ one_?

Some talent _she_ had. _I_was definitely more powerful than she; once I had finally opened my eyes and felt the energy swirling about Pana, it grew to be more and more obvious.

And frightening. I worried that someday she _would_ be spotted. She would be a powerful mage if cultivated - and I daydreamed of cultivating her natural talent. She was such a quick learner, and it would be so _easy_to take her on as a pupil.

You know, if we weren't slaves.

I had reason to believe that Pana enjoyed my presence as much as I enjoyed hers. We became quick friends, the little mage and I, whether anybody liked it or not. She was quick and quiet, and perceptive for her age. I was impressed that she had been able to hide her status as a mage from -

I had been dusting one of the obscure shelves in the library, feeling Fenris glare holes in my back, when it occurred me.

Someone else _had_ to know.

Even if she had never told anyone, someone _had_to be aware of the fact that there was a mage in their midst.

There was absolutely no way that Pana could have grown up in the mansion withoutshowing signs of being a mage. For the Maker's sake, I gave Carver frostbite as my first spell - coming into magehood was hardly an unnoticeable thing, if I could attest so myself.

"You are thinking rather hard for a woman who should be dusting a bookshelf," Fenris noted snidely from behind me.

I stretched my fingers, letting out a puff of air. _Do not snap back, do not snap back, do not snap -_ "I am devising a plan to ditch my stalker," I said, proud of the way my voice did not waver in irritation.

"How is that working for you?"

No derisive or malicious tone, eh?

Maybe Fenris was not in one of those _brooding_ moods today. "Not very well, as you can see. I have now gained his full attention."

"I doubt you had a modicum of it before," he said shortly.

Never mind. Fenris was _always_in a brooding mood. "You don't have to be such an ass, you know," I said, returning to my dusting. There was not much to be done; the library was in the center of the manor, and far away from the windows. My cloth barely picked up any particles of dust as I rubbed down surface after surface on the lowest level of the bookcase. "I am not such a bad person that I deserve this treatment."

I heard him sigh, and the sound of his feet hitting the floor as he drew nearer. I tensed - possibly for open verbal attack.

"You're right," he said, kneeling beside me hesitantly. I turned to him, my face blatantly overemphasizing the shock I felt. Fenris's stance was rigid, and he would not meet my gaze. "You do not deserve to be treated badly," he admitted, jaw rigid.

Utterly repentant.

Huh.

What had I been doing differently?

Kornyn must have spiked his water.

Fenris could not have come to this conclusion on his own - he would _never_ think the best of _anyone_without solid facts to back said thoughts up on.

"Why do you stare at me?" he asked uncomfortably, shifting beneath my wide-eyed stare. "Say something," he demanded.

"I don't know what to say," I hedged honestly. "You have not spoken to me in days - in _fact_," I pointed out, "the last thing you said coherently to me was, '_You aren't worth my time_'," I quoted, complete with a dull Fenris expression and a mocked deep voice. "Not the nicest thing to leave me with." _Even if you followed it up with adorable exhaustion._

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, and my mouth twitched. I noticed that he had done that several times, recently.

Definitely a nervous habit.

"Forgive me for saying anything untoward," Fenris said, glaring at the floor.

"Why would you?" I pushed, wanting answers from this different Fenris - this _real_ Fenris. The Fenris of the future despised me from the outset because I was a mage, but this _Leto_ had no reason to suspect me of anything.

Besides being a master of wit.

"Want to say anything 'untoward', I mean."

Master of wit.

Peh.

"I do not know," he said, sitting back on his feet and resting his hands on his upper thighs. "You are a frustrating woman."

"_I'm_ the frustrating one?" Bemused, I ran my cloth over the corner of the bookcase, collecting accumulated dust and cobwebs that should have been cleaned out ages ago. "Hilarious." I had done nothing short of spilling my guts to him over the past few days. "Perhaps I should begin barking out callous comments and glaring at you from afar, then. You would identify with me, if nothing else."

"There has never been anyone like you to darken these halls," Fenris said abruptly, shocking me. "You are rash, disrespectful, and bold. You..."

"What?" I asked, ducking my head to better see his face. He couldn't leave me hanging, could he?

"You are not afraid of me," he said with a frown. "I've never...faced an issue like you before."

"So, now I'm an 'issue', am I?" I asked dryly. _Still better than Fereldan wench._

His head rose, causing his dark hair to shift across his face. "That is not what I meant," he sighed. "It appears that I can't help but offend you in some way."

I chuckled at his melancholy demeanor. "I'm teasing you, F-" I swallowed the name. We were making progress - slow, steady progress - and it suddenly seemed stupid to call him by anything other than his given name. Had I not given him grief over not calling me "Marian"? "I know you didn't mean it." I relaxed my posture, crossing my legs and abandoning my dusting rag.

At a time like this, who cared about chores? Fenris was infinitely more interesting, even if he _did_have a tendency to snap at me.

A tendency I would endeavor to ignore for as long as he continued being agreeable.

"I'm...sorry," he said, pushing the word through his lips with great distaste, "that my behavior has been..."

"Awful?" I offered with a tight-lipped grin. "You don't have to apologize to me." I thought a moment. "I _would_like to know more about you, though, if you are feeling particularly repentant and vocal. Like what I could possibly do to pull such damnable behavior from you," I said, rubbing my naked legs. "So we don't have to repeat such..." I trailed off, thinking about the moments when he snapped at me for some reason or another. "Unfortunate encounters."

"It is not anything that you do," Fenris said, brow furrowing.

"Something I don't do?" I probed, earning a shake of his head.

"I fail when it comes to you."

I cocked my head, carefully monitoring the expression on his face. Not hard, but...resentful. He hated admitting this.

He really thought he was a failure.

"What do you mean?" I encouraged gently.

"A slave's actions are defined by their owner," he spoke raggedly, glaring at the tomes on the wall. He chuckled abruptly. "_I_am defined by whoever owns me. Thoughts, feelings; these are irrelevant."

"You are still a person," I interrupted, my hand snapping out to his. His dark skin was warm beneath my palm - comforting and thickly lined from years of training with a sword. I ran my fingers across his knuckles before he tried to withdraw his limb, but I persisted, capturing it with my fingers. "You can't be _owned_by any one person unless you allow it."

He glared at me, his dark bangs shading his face. "Are you saying I am a slave because I _wish_to be?"

I hissed at him for raising his voice, glancing around the library to see if we were overheard. The slaves were normally spread out throughout the day and had little contact with each other, but it would be extremely ill-fated to be caught whispering by the Mistress of the manor or her party guests. "Yes," I whispered back, facing him. "If you no longer wished to be a slave, you wouldn't be."

His laugh was dark and limited. "If only being free were so easy," he said bitterly, shaking my hand off of his.

"You didn't punish me," I clarified, grabbing it again, stubborn. "Was that at the will of your Mistress?"

Fenris snorted. "If I punished everyone as they deserved, her household staff would be nonexistent."

Well.

"Last night, when you came to me-" I broke off when his voice cut into my sentence.

"I was hallucinating," Fenris said immediately, glaring down at me. I shrunk away from his sudden, cold indifference, automatically releasing his hand.

His face softened and a mild, burning look settled in the glare's stead. "I appreciate what you...did for me," he gritted through his teeth. I smiled, recognizing the slow, intentional progress.

"You are trying hard, aren't you?" His demeanor was so...different than what it had been a few days ago. He was making an effort to change.

That effort interested and confused me.

Fenris barked out a short, unamused laugh. "Am I that transparent?" He ran a hand through his hair, the overgrown locks nearly reaching his nose. It would need to be trimmed soon.

"No," I said quietly, glancing at the floor. "I'm just perceptive." I looked back up to his eyes. "Which is why I know that, deep down, you value yourself as more than a slave."

"I shouldn't," he said, voice weary. I hated that tone. It spoke of defeat, of acceptance. "Every thought I have should be for the master I serve. Otherwise, I am useless."

"To whom?" I contradicted my back straightening as a spark shot down my spine at his words. "To that Magister?" I spat the title, shaking my head. "She is worthless compared to you, Fenris. Utterly replaceable. In fact, if-"

A tan hand covered my mouth, a deep, steely gaze scowling in my face. "Will you watch your tongue?" he growled, slowly removing his hand, his fingers slipping off my lips. "That line of thought is a cheap way to get yourself killed."

That sentence reminded me of how he saved me from the sandstorm, how he had taken the time to cleanse my small wound from the slice of the assassin's blade. Fenris did not want me dead.

_Why_? Who was I, to him? I was some recently bought, untrained slave. I was a _nobody_. I was a Fereldan wench, an _issue_ to be dealt with. I watched him carefully, peering up at his frozen face and wondering if everything he did was a conscious decision.

_Did he mean to protect me? Save me from bodily harm?_

_Kiss me?_

"When you kissed me," I murmured quickly, sitting forward, heart bursting with unexplained energy, making my muscles twitch. His vivid, golden-flecked eyes were wide as I finally gave notice to the elephant in the room. "Was that at the behest of a Mistress?"

_Please, say no._

_If you say yes, I am officially going to kick your ass._

He leaned his head against the towering bookcase that I had been in the process of cleaning, placing his face just below mine. "Yes," Fenris said, his brow furrowing. My heart dropped. "No?" he stated, less sure. He clamped his eyes shut, appearing to have a migraine. "I...everything I stand for..."

I waited a few seconds for him to continue; when he said nothing, I persevered:

"If you were a mindless slave," I mouthed, my voice barely breaking the tense silence. I cleared my throat, my delivery gaining a few volumes. "You would have no feelings of your own."

Fenris sat incredibly still; it was a dedicated skill that could only be taught to the most competent man, and where he was unmovable, I was twitching and vibrating with the intensity of his stare. I was easily overcome by the moment, my heart fluttering with every inhale. I could smell his flavor in the air, the earthy, trademark _Fenris _smell. For a moment, his scent overwhelmed me.

My empty hand rose. I was, on some level of my being, frightened of Fenris and what reaction he would have. But on another level, I was aware that _he_ must need this, too. He shouldn't give a shit about me.

But he did.

That was good enough for me.

I stretched out a tentative finger to an overgrown, dark hair that had fallen onto his cheek. _Soft_. I watched his Adam's apple bob. "A man without feelings wouldn't kiss someone of his own accord." His eyes found mine again, and I touched the skin of his cheek. _Warm_.

"Did _you_ kiss me, Fenris?" I whispered, leaning closer to him. His scent grew in potency the closer I came to him, his hot, humid breath fanning across my face and shooting goose bumps down my spine. "Did _you_ make the decision?"

His face was torn. Our noses briefly brushed together as he deliberated, the space between our lips paining me.

He had to say the word.

Fenris inhaled sharply, eyes meeting mine decisively.

"Yes."

I felt his breath fan across my face before he reached beyond those last few centimeters separating us. Our lips met, warm and slow and lingering and soft. I captured his top lip and ran my tongue across it, tasting the tangy flavor of his mouth, coaxing his body closer to own.

It was gentle, quite different than any kiss I had ever received from Fenris. They were always brief, always hard and passionate. I had never had a chance to _savor_ the experience; never before had I had the opportunity to languish in his taste, the feel of him, the softness of his mouth and the firmness of his jaw. His tongue traced the inside of my lips, pressing deeper after a few moments to join mine.

A warm hand touched my cheek and we both steadily reduced our slow, deliberate movements; my breathing returned at a ragged pace as we released our lips, panting together.

I smiled, mouth slightly parted. Fenris rested his head again, leaning his forehead against the smooth wood of the bookcase.

"Feel different?" I asked as his hand fell from my face.

His bottomless eyes sought out mine, a heartbreakingly intense expression on his face. He opened his mouth to reply, slick lips catching the light from the waning sun gleaming through the window.

Quick, determined footsteps were heard approaching the library, and disappointment prickled in my chest. Fenris quickly shut his mouth and stood punctually, crossing his arms behind his back. Wallowing in my dissatisfaction, I remained on my knees, sighing.

_You can't win every battle_.

"Leto," called Svanna briskly, striding into the room with a girl at her side. Her face was blank, controlled. "The Mistress has demanded your services."

Fenris tensed beside me. I glanced up at him, spying at this reaction with a critical, observant eye.

He was uncomfortable with serving his Mistress.

I smiled, hoping this attitude was in response to my urging.

_Or nosiness._

A sniffle echoed in the heavy air, and my eye was drawn to the girl Svanna had dragged into the room. My mouth fell open when I saw the bruise budding across the apple of her cheek.

She had been struck.

"Pana," my voice strangled around her name, and she ducked her head. Outrage found strength in my mind before common sense could find its voice. Who would _ever_strike sweet, dutiful Pana?

Anger-stricken, I glared up at Svanna. "Who hit her?" I asked, ready to pull out Fenris's whip and perform his "_services_" for him. I stood, my hamstrings straining as I fought to control myself. "What happened?"

"It is none of your concern," Svanna said, ignoring my outbursts. She shot Fenris a withering look. "The Mistress has called for ten lashes on Pana."

My mouth dropped. "What could she have ever done to deserve this treatment?" I asked, stunned. "She's only a _girl_!"

Svanna shut her eyes, and Pana bowed her head, blonde curls falling over her forehead. "Pana has been caught smuggling food that did not belong to her," Svanna explained through her teeth. "Punishment is to be dealt."

My eyes widened. The cookie. I had told her to take the cookie - and _this_ was the price? I growled beneath my breath. There were dozens more cookies, and the poor elf had never tasted _one_.

This could _not_happen.

"Whip me, instead," I said, looking to Fenris. His eyes were hard. "I told her to do it," I implored, heart pounding.

Pana made a noise, and our attention focused on her.

"You did not," Fenris said, still gazing at the fair-haired elven child. "You cannot be held responsible." A pointed look was thrown at me, and I glared at him. "You were in here. With me."

"I told her before I entered the library."

"She stole the Mistress's dessert recently," Svanna interrupted the ever-heating conversation between Fenris and I. "You are not directly involved with the situation, and the Mistress did not say to punish _you."_Her orange eyes slid to Fenris. "Leto?"

Fenris nodded and reached around his waist to the simple loop that held his whip. I sprung into action, my hand grasping his, putting myself between him and the girl.

"Don't," I begged, squeezing his knuckles.

_You are not a pawn._

You are free.

Like me.

_You_ chose_, Fenris. Doesn't that matter?_

He looked away as he pushed me from his hand, pulling out his sleek, winding whip.

I stumbled away from Fenris. He couldn't _really_whip a girl, could he?

He could. I knew he could. "Move," he commanded stiffly, his mouth a thin line. Where had all of our progress fled to? He had transformed into a cold, Magister-fearing monster, a man worthy of hatred and disdain. Where had the troubled boy gone, the one that believed he might be a free being?

I wanted _him_back, the one who would accept my kisses and words of freedom and hope.

Not the one that glared at me behind my back.

Svanna turned Pana around and lifted the back of her hand-me-down navy too-long shirt; I pushed the old elf out of my way and crouched before the girl, holding her hands in mine.

"I'm sorry, Pana," I whispered, kissing her cheek and knowing it was inevitable. Fenris would shove me into the fire if it meant his duties remained uncompromised. "I would not wish pain on you for anything in the world."

She hugged me, tucking her face into my neck and straining to remain decent in the eyes of those who observed her. My arms wrapped around her small torso, shielding parts of her skinny, unblemished back from...

I looked up at him, my own eyes unforgiving. He was not Fenris - Fenris was no coward. Fenris would never bow to the will of a master, no matter the consequences.

He was not Fenris, the Wolf.

He was Leto, the Monster.

Pana tensed.

"Marian?" she whispered, and I locked my hands around her shoulders. I was not going to move - he would have to pry a corpse's hands from the girl if he wanted me gone. This was my fault.

Pana was not going to suffer alone.

"Yes?" I answered, shutting my eyes to block out the sight of Fenris readying his whip.

"The cookie tasted good," she said, and I chuckled.

"There is that, then," I said, my humored chuckle transforming into a grunt when a thin arc of pain slapped my forearms.

"One," Fenris said, voice void of emotion. I held Pana tighter as she whimpered, the light sting making itself known as the pain was absorbed.

My eyes opened as the second blow landed between Pana's shoulder blades, grazing my fingers.

"Two," Fenris counted. The next blow was softened, barely a slap, but hard enough to leave a light mark.

I leaned my head over Pana's shoulder to see his face, to see what he was doing, but my timing was unfortunate; a light lash struck my face, making me flinch. Fenris visibly winced, the only hint in his stony facade that gave me any kind of hope. I felt the sore on my cheek pound in tandem with my heart, one sharp pain growing into another.

_Why is he letting this happen?_

"Five," he spoke in a throaty voice, barely flicking his wrist into the movement of the whip as it landed. Still tense, Pana and I waited for the next hit, clutching each other.

I watched as Fenris slid his whip through his hand, rolling and slipping it back onto the threaded cord holding his pants.

"Leto?"

"Five is enough," Fenris said, voice hollow. When Svanna opened her mouth to speak again, he held up a hand. "I'll take her to the Mistress."

I refused to look into his face as he treaded forward until his pants leg brushed against the ball that Pana and I formed, and her head tilted upwards.

I wanted to ask him why he let this happen - how could anything be worth a child's pain? But I did not want to speak in fear of what might come from my mouth. She slowly released my neck, moving her grasp to his leg, hugging it tightly. I patted her hair, unable to ignore the bright red marks on her pale back that were glaring at me.

_You did this to her._The welts on her pale back, the emotional scars.

He pulled Pana up, breaking my last hold on her. I righted her too-long shirt, settling it on her birdlike legs.

He took her hand and helped her onto her feet, ushering her from the library, leaving Svanna and I alone in the suddenly lonely room, leaving me an empty feeling in my gut.

"I suggest you be wary in the future," Svanna said, voice low. "Lest this happen again."

At least Pana had gotten a taste of her first cookie.

I hoped it was worth it.

**-LM-**

I carried my cleaning rags back to the main supply closet, stowing them away. I shut the door, blockading myself inside to wallow. It was appropriate; every time I had been completely inside of the closet, I was surrounded by confusion.

Sitting down on a stool and feeling my way around in the dark, I put my elbows on my knees and moped.

A girl was beaten by Fenris.

Fenris beat a slave. A slave that was hardly older than a baby, by my standards.

It felt like there was much more to the situation than I comprehended, but all that I could focus on was the fact that he hadn't even second-guessed what was asked of him - like a tool, he had done what was asked of him and only that.

I hung my head in my hands. _How_ was that situation fair? She had eaten a _cookie_. She was the sweetest, nicest little thing I had ever met. I ran my fingers over the welts on the back of my forearms, the light sting reminding me of what he did.

Someone was walking down the hallway. I sighed, hoping beyond hope that I would not be found.

Light blinded the room as the door was opened. "Marian?" Kornyn asked, surprised and blinking. "This is an odd place to be sitting, don't you think?"

I shook my head, fighting the wetness collecting in my eyes. "Fenris whipped Pana."

Kornyn paused, then sighed, slipping to the floor beside me. "Pana will be fine, Mary."

"He _whipped_her." It beared repeating. I pushed my head back into my hands. "He's a monster."

"Don't say that," Kornyn said, voice surprisingly hard. "You need to understand his reasoning before you question his method, Mary. It is not the first time that girl has been punished, and it most likely will not be the last."

I bit my lip at the troublesome thought that it may happen _again_.

I watched him discreetly through a crack between my fingers as he raked a hand over his face. "I have been looking for you," he said raggedly. "But I don't think it is a good time."

"For what?" I asked dully, frowning and dropping my hands.

"I thought to ask you when I was showing you the pasture," Kornyn said, rubbing his neck. "I wasn't sure if my suspicions were correct."

I narrowed my eyes. "What suspicions?"

"That you are in love with Leto," Kornyn said, then chuckled and shook his head. "Or is it _Fenris_?" He smiled at me. "I'm astounded that he answers to that name."

I wasn't. "In love?" I squeaked. "With...with..."

_The monster that beats children?_

No. You can't be in love with that. You are interested, sure, confused by him, definitely, but...

"No." I said resolutely, shaking my head. "No_._There is no way that I could be...that we would..." I shut my mouth.

_You want it._

_Stop being selfish. He's an awful person; the sooner you realize the truth, the sooner you can let him go._

You can focus on a way home.

But I didn't _want_to go home...not yet. Certainly there were things I missed - freedom was high on that long list - but I found this...past...

_Fascinating._

Damn me.

Damn Kornyn for bringing it up.

He had a creepy smile on his face when I looked up to glare at him. "Which brings me to my offer," he said, scooting forward to place his arms on my knees. "One I think that you, personally, will have difficulty refusing."

My ears perked up. "I'm listening," I said, leaning my upper body away from him.

"Leto has been here far too long," Kornyn said, frowning. "For all of the wrong reasons." He shut his eyes and furrowed his brow, trying to articulate what he meant. "He used to be different, Mary, I promise. He used to be a dreamer, like you. He used to want things, used to dream about having freedom of his own..." he trailed off. "He's not...whole anymore. He is half the elf he was when we were kids.

"My point is that, if anyone could resurrect that dead half of him, it is you," he said, opening his eyes to stare up at me, their golden tones muted in the low light. "You are the exact opposite of a slave, if you haven't noticed, and he is appalled and intrigued by..." He shrugged. "Well, _you_. We _all _are."

"Get to it," I pushed impatiently, still feeling a small flare of anger brushing up inside of me.

"I want you to escape," Kornyn finally said, staring up at me.

I opened my mouth, ready with some sarcastic comment about slavery and guards, but he interrupted me.

"Take Leto with you."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry for being super late. :(<strong>

**What do you think of my OC, Kornyn? Like him? Hate him? Hate OCs in general?**


	8. 06 Kidda

**Most of us are in tacit agreement that we like Kornyn; but there are some of us who do not like OCs in general.**

**One in particular doesn't trust him. o_. Poor Kornyn.**

**You guys light my fire. I less-than three all of you from the bottom of my less-than three.**

* * *

><p><em>Why should we strive, with cynic frown, to knock their fairy castles down? - Eliza Cook<em>

* * *

><p><strong>06. Kidda<strong>

Kornyn certainly knew how to push my buttons when it came to Fenris.

Whenever I spied Fenris nearby, I could see, I could _hear_ Kornyn in my peripherals; always smirking, always offering.

_Escape._

What did that even mean? There _was_no escape. Not for the random slave. Fenris was right - I was stupid to even imagine escape. I was ignorant for my dreaming of having an independent Fenris, of hoping that we would ever be free of this mess.

Seeing Pana being whipped sobered me to that fact well enough.

_You are not a random slave__._

I scrubbed the dish with renewed vigor, spitting vitriol in my head. A random slave. _I am a slave_.

_You are more powerful than the Magister you serve,_ whispered a voice within the confines my mind. I scrunched my nose and shoved the dish away, disgusted with the thought.

_What is power? She is a magister. I have no power here._

Kornyn would not know any more information of me than the Mistress - _Fausta _- did. Which was _nothing_. He did not know that I was a mage. He did not suspect anything of me than what he was told or had witnessed.

_He's just pissing out his mouth._

_But..._

Escape could mean more than just distancing ourselves from Fausta.

It could mean that Fenris would not have his memories erased.

I knew that at some point, or I _assumed, _that Fenris would be passed over to Danarius.

What if I had the choice to prevent that?

_Would _I?

Would I _want_ to?

I could save his life. If I could change his fate, if I could manipulate the circumstances... I could possibly stop Danarius from inflicting the white markings upon Fenris.

I shook my head at myself, gnawing on my lip as I scrubbed yet another dish. That wasn't the point, was it? In this instance, _I _did not matter at all. The accurate question would be, would _Fenris_ want to? Would it be best for_ him_?

I had no idea. I wondered if he would be a different man if he were freed from slavery this early in life. No Danarius, no Hadriana, no markings. Would he be happier?

We could hop ship, possibly sailing to Ferelden. My home. I could be settled back in Lothering in less than a year, versatile Fenris at my side. I foresaw him in guard gear, dressed to the nines in armor with his scabbard hugging his slender back. Would he want to be a guard? He was a natural at defending; I could vouch for him. But the image of my head lacked clarity; it was difficult to see him in anything other than his trademark spiky cuirass and leggings. It was easier to see a dark-haired Fenris tending a field with me, sweat dripping from his brow despite the chilled air from the hard, honest work, tilling soil out back while a dog chased chickens around the front.

I could see Ma and Beth and Carver and _Da_, all confused but happy to see me. I wondered if _I_ would be there, here, in this time – would I not be yet a girl in this time? - but stopped that line of thought when a headache bloomed across my temples.

Two of me in one setting?

Maker forbid, but Varric would have a field day.

"_No shit, there I was in a dark corner of Kirkwall, when suddenly-"_

"Stop thinking so much." Fenris's low voice was a warning in my ear. I jumped, startled at his presence. How long had he been there? "You are attracting unwanted attention."

It was true; all of the slaves in the kitchen had their eyes trained upon me. I realized too late that I had been washing the same dish since I arrived at the sink. How long had my hands been working? "Sorry," I ground out through gritted teeth, dropping the plate back into the basin. Heat flooded my face as a fleeting stir of anger swept over me. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was told to leave the room," he replied gravely, peering down at me with those piercing green eyes of his. "So I left."

"And you came here?" I asked, picking up another dish and feeling irritated by everything. The kitchen door swung open, and a thin brown shape made its way over to where we stood.

_Of course. It would not be a party without everyone present._

"I came to-"

"Ah, there you are," Kornyn said with a sly smile, easing his way next to me. "Have you thought about what I said?"

_That elf _knows _I have thought about what he said._

"Perhaps," I responded, jaw clenching and unclenching. _Why_did I feel so furious with everyone all of the sudden?

"Something I should be privy to?" Fenris asked, on the offensive. I glanced up at him suspiciously.

_Jealous?_

He has no right to be.

And still...

Kornyn flashed him an impish smile. "Only if the Lady wishes it."

I growled beneath my breath. "Stop calling me that," I spat, scrubbing another dish. I hated it when he put me on the spot like that - it made me feel like an outcast among outcasts.

I certainly had no place in this world.

Kornyn cleared his throat. "I came to supply another offer, if you are willing to hear me out."

"Not interested," came a stern voice from my side.

My jaw clenched immediately in fury, and I whipped my head around to glare at Fenris. What _right _did he think he had to speak for me?

"_Excuse_me?" I asked, voice dangerous and eyes narrowed. "Do I not have a mouth?"

Fenris ignored me. "I suggest you be on your way, Kornyn."

"I suggest you let the Lady talk," Kornyn offered, noticing my heated glower.

"_Stop calling me that_," I snapped. "What do you _want_, Kornyn?"

"Marian, I do not think-" Fenris started. I cut him off.

"I do not give a damn about what you think," I seethed. "You were a complete _ass _to me, and_ now _you are trying to dictate my decisions?"

"You _have_no decisions," Fenris said, sounding stiff and mildly surprised. "You are a slave."

I grunted and clenched my hands into fists; lifting them, I placed them on his chest and _pushed_. "Shut _up_!" I cried, heated, knowing I was making a scene but no longer caring. "Shut up, shut up, shut _up!_" Inhaling, I tried to control myself before I let something slip, but _damn_ it, I could not _stand _the bastard at that moment. "I am aware of what I am, and what I know now is that _you_ _want_ me to be a slave!" I declared, pointing a finger at him. All around us, the kitchen staff stared, dumbfounded. "You do not want me to have my own mind, because you want me to be _your_ slave!" I yanked my fists back to my sides again, ignoring his taut, angered face.

"You bitch about tough you have had it, yet you _spit _on anyone in a station below you! No, worse - you _beat_ them." Tears stung my eyes. This was _not_ the way I had planned my talk to Fenris - not in front of so many gaping people, not shouting, and definitely _not_with such vitriol.

"You have no compassion, no interest, and no feelings towards anyone outside of yourself, and you are a Maker-damned _fool_," my voice trembled with anger, "if you think I will submit myself to you."

The silence after my last word could have been sliced with a cheese knife. I inhaled three times, counting the exhales, and turned to a pale-faced Kornyn.

"Now," I spoke, rational, calm, _even, _yet simmering with underlying tension. "What was your offer?"

The sly smile was instantly back; he threw an arm over my shoulder, huddled close to my ear. "There's going to be a party."

"So?" I asked, my own voice dull in my ears. I heard scrambling across the kitchen, and knew Fenris was up to something; I did not wish to face him to find out what.

"A party thrown by _slaves_," he whispered, grinning.

I gaped at him. _No shit?_ "How does that work?" _A rendezvous in the woods after hours?_

"Don't worry about it," he replied smoothly. "I want you to come."

"But - I can't -" I sputtered, thinking of the rigorous waking hours and the too-few sleeping hours.

"I will make certain that you are covered for the hours we will be absent," he said, sounding like he was pleading. "One night is all I ask."

"And if we are caught?" I asked, hastily adding, "not that I am agreeing."

"We will be captured and be inducted into slavery," he said, rolling his eyes. "What more can they do to us?"

More. So much more. Could he not fathom…?

"Kornyn," I said, hesitating. Why was he doing this? Why did he _insist_on complicating my life?

He shook his head, pressed a hand to my mouth. "Think about it. It will be in one week's time; I will retrieve you, if you want to come. Just...let me know, all right?"

I nodded behind his hand, and he was gone with a tug of my hair. I grumbled and eventually resumed my washing, hands pruning in the dirty water as I tended to neglected dishes. When had my hands become so coarse? I remembered, back in Ferelden, I would do most of the hunting and housework. Besides being the senior mage (before my father, of course), I was also best at tying traps and knife work; if we ever had to travel on the run from the Templar, it was handy to be able to ditch the staff and be of use with swords and knives. There were too many mage traits that were telling and obvious; the robes, the staff, the fire-balling hands. I had to adapt and leave those necessities behind to survive.

It explained most of the coarseness, but a few extra lines had definitely made themselves known across my palms within the last few weeks.

"Whatever Kornyn said, it is a bad idea," Fenris grumbled, sullen.

"I'm angry at you," I said, but the heat of my words had faded. My flame had burnt out. "Go away."

"He does many dangerous things."

"A girl enjoys a bit of danger, now and again." I tried not to throw him a withering glance.

"Going to a party thrown by slaves – it is bad business, Marian."

I glared at him. "You eavesdropped," I accused.

"I did not," he said, furrowing his brow.

"Then how did you know about the party?" I asked, crossing my arms. He smiled grimly.

"I did not," he said, cocking his head. "But now I know for certain what scheme he has up his sleeve – and I am doubly sure that you should not go."

I cursed, spinning around to continue my work. _He can go eat shit with that grin_. "Go away, Fenris."

"My name is not Fenris," he said impatiently. _For the thousandth time_. I still was not going to call him _Leto_, even if he insisted a thousand more times. "A party thrown by slaves." He made a sound at the back of his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose - a habit I had grown to recognize. One that the future Fenris did not share. "You may be the worst slave in the history of Thedas."

"Thank you," I said breezily, switching plates to the drying rack. A carrier boy - what was his name again? - swept into the room and placed more plates to wash on the counter. I sighed.

"It was not a compliment," he hissed. "If the Mistress catches you-"

"Then she catches me," I repeated Kornyn's words.

"You do not understand," Fenris hissed, leaning into my ear. "Slaves that throw these parties – they are _new. _They are _new_ and they are _foolish._" He grabbed my hand to stop my movements. "They do not know what they are doing; they do not know what happens when they are caught."

"I take it you know from experience?" I asked dryly.

"_Yes_," he growled. "I have seen foolish, young slaves be killed for such nonsense."

"So now I am _foolish?_" I challenged.

"If you agree to attend this party, then yes," he said, straightening his spine and glaring at me. I huffed, looking away from his enrapturing face before I succumbed to it.

"Go away, Fenris," I said for the last time. "Go away before I tell the Mistress that you are taking liberties with her command."

His mouth thinned into a straight line, but he left me in peace.

Why did peace feel so hollow?

The dishwater was warm on my skin as the temperature drained from me. I felt used, tired, dried up. There were too many emotions to sort through, too many omissions and too many thoughts in my head for me to keep track of them all.

I slumped over the counter, my head hitting the hard wood as my brain shut off.

Five minutes of reprieve would do me a world of good, despite the odd looks I was receiving from the elves in the room.

**-K- **

A week passed, and still I had not made up my mind to tell Kornyn no. Or yes. I _did_enjoy his company, so why was I hesitating?

_Because Fenris knows this world better than you, that's why. He knows what happens when you fuck up too bad._

But Kornyn was...Kornyn. In my profession, he would be a rogue. We would not be caught if he was in the lead; as long as I did not call attention to the fact that we were doing something out of line, we would be fine. I knew that.

Pana was already asleep when I crawled under the small closet, huddling myself around her tiny body. I could not tell where the whips had struck her skin due to her covered back, but a few red, angry marks lingered on my forearms as evidence of Fenris's betrayal. I traced the short patterns on my skin, my fingertip lingering on the stinging flesh until I fell asleep.

**-K-**

"Everyone!" an authoritative voice hollered early in the coming morn; I groaned and wrapped my arms tightly around Pana, holding her tiny self closer. "You have all been summoned!"

"Mary," Pana whispered quietly in my ear. "It's time to get up."

"Five more minutes," I said, grouchy at being awoken at such an early hour. I felt as if I had only lain down for a few seconds, and yet I was being woken again.

She prodded me in the side. "Let's go, or we will get into trouble again," she said earnestly, pushing my hip until I rolled out from under the wardrobe.

"Fine," I griped, rubbing the back of my head. I sat up, glaring at the elves crowding around. A dark, imposing male elf was giving instructions at the door. I heard the name "Amelia" and the word "preparations".

"What's going on?" I asked dazedly, half of my brain still asleep and suggesting I crawl back under the closet. The working half of my brain, unfortunately for me, agreed whole-heartedly with the dead half.

"Amon says that the young Mistress is due to arrive today," calmly spoke a raven haired elf girl. I squinted at her.

"So...there's a Young Mistress and an Old Mistress?" I asked, peering at her pointed, tanned face.

"The Mistress's daughter," Pana explained in a whispered aside. I made an "o" with my mouth and nodded slowly.

"I get it," I said, rubbing my sore back. "We have to put on our good slave shoes for special occasions." _A good slave shoe_. _Slaves do not wear shoes. Does that mean that _we_ are the shoes? _I envisioned myself as a sleek, long leather boot.

The boot was trapped beneath a voluptuous piece of Rivanian ass. My vision faded as I shook Isabela from my head.

_Now, _she_ is a proper wench_, I thought, my entire brain waking up as it disappointedly realized and accepted that sleep would not be granted anytime within the near future.

I followed the crowd of elves as we were herded into a great room. I vaguely remember sweeping the floors of the magnificent room, but who could tell in a place this huge? Every floor looked alike.

The Mistress was standing, pristine and appearing misleadingly innocuous, in the center of the room. Every slave lowered their head.

"My Amelia," she spoke, voice loud and clear enough for us to all grasp, "is arriving today. I will expect nothing less than absolute perfection, are we clear?"

There were no answers, only dead silence as the Mistress gave direct orders. I glanced from face to face surreptitiously beneath my eyelashes, trying to gauge their reaction to such interference to routine.

"All of the rooms will be aired and cleaned by the evening," Fausta ordered, and I noticed she was holding a book in her hand. "Lunch is to be skipped until the additional chores have been completed."

Restless feet responded to her admission as the elves resigned themselves to going without. I frowned, glancing at Pana beside me. I could barely see over the elves' heads without resorting to standing on my toes; Pana was not even attempting to view Fausta. She was staring at the floor, eyes empty, hair falling in her face. I tugged on a strand, gaining her attention.

When her lime eyes met my face, I smiled half-heartedly at her. _Chin up, baby cakes. She has to feed us sometime._

I could almost hear her stomach growl.

She returned her gaze to the floor.

**-K-**

The laundry was especially difficult. The Mistress was preparing for the arrival of her only daughter, and as such we were expected to wash every piece of fabric in her room. And every other room, as well. I was uncertain as to how all of the rooms were related, but it was important that each of them were spotless.

I bundled the entire load of the second floor's laundry into a sheet to make it easier to carry, but it was still large and awkward to maneuver. When my arms grew tired of carrying it down the winding hallways, I gave up. Red-faced and sweating, I dragged the heavy sack across the floor, heaving.

_Less to mop,_I reasoned.

I walked backwards into something solid, my knees bending. I squeaked as I tripped over the object, falling onto my back and flattening it beneath me as I pulled the sack onto my stomach.

The object below me hissed, and I pushed the laundry off of me. "Sorry!" I whispered earnestly, rolling forward to a sit, collecting myself with heavy breaths.

"Will you please...?" forced out a girl. I looked down and jumped, moving from on top of her and feeling embarrassed for having sat on her.

"My fault," I automatically said, blushing and holding my hand out to the willowy elf. She declined it, her eyes on the floor as she rose to her feet. I pursed my lips. "I did not mean to trip over you," I said. "I'm Marian."

She didn't say anything, lips tightly pressed together. Her thick, black hair had been twisted into a bun atop her head, her bangs hiding most of her face - from what I could see, she had a pointed chin and high cheekbones.

I recognized her, but could not place her face. "Too much laundry..."I said awkwardly, motioning to my heavy sack. I cleared my throat. "I'll just...go."

I scurried out of the hallway, embarrassed, pulling the sack behind me the best I could.

**-K-**

It was late in the evening before anything else significant happened; I was in the middle of carrying yet _another_ lot of linens to the bath house to be cleansed when I heard a loud, heavy _thud_ hit the floor nearby. I immediately dropped the clothes and sheets I was carrying and ran towards the sound, automatically knowing what it signified.

_Only bodies make that kind of impact_.

I nervously swung open a door into a study room, suspiciously leaning forward.

Another assassin?

I narrowed my eyes. Someone had to have it out bad for Fausta, if it was another assassin. I snuck into the study, all of my being alert for any sudden movement. Easing around a desk and darting my eyes around the room, I did not notice anything particularly out of the ordinary until my foot kicked something warm and fleshy on the floor.

I looked down at it and my heart froze.

"Oh, _Pana_." My mouth gaped as I sank to my knees, touching the back of her light locks. Her front was covered in vomit, and her face was deathly pale. It was normally hollow and sunken from lack of nutrients, but at that moment, lying on the floor, the image of my sweet young mage was disturbing.

Poor, small Pana.

I felt ashamed, thinking of all the things I could do for her that I did not. I should have given her my rations; I should have covered for her to allow her more sleep. She was too young to carry such weight on her shoulders; her body was not yet strong enough to endure such hardship.

"What happened?" A calm voice inquired. I glanced up to see Svanna darkening the doorway.

"She's sick," I explained, leaning down again to sneak my hand underneath the small elf's chest. My other hand went behind her legs and I lifted her, taking care to avoid the obstacles around us so she would not knock her head on anything. "She's starving, Svanna." I looked worriedly into her orange eyes, knowing the cause of this particular illness. Pana stirred in my arms and I held her tighter to my torso.

Svanna glanced at the floor and sighed at the puddle of filth that Pana had left. "Take her away," she commanded wearily. "I will send someone to assist."

I nodded gratefully. "Thank you," I said sincerely, walking past her. She ducked out of the room through a concealed doorway that lead straight to a supply closet; I chose the quickest route to the slave quarters, noting with more than just a little worry that scrawny Pana nearly weighed nothing in my arms.

I set her down on a mat; they were all unoccupied, due both to the hour of the day and the duties given to the entire group. I smoothed her hair from her face and ran to fetch a bowl of water and a rag.

I returned a few minutes later to find her eyes watching me.

"Hey, honey," I greeted, kneeling beside her head. She looked pitiful; I had never seen a sadder expression on her face. Her mouth was angled in a deep frown, her eyes full of worry and fear. "Don't worry about anything just yet," I ordered her, dunking the rag I had scavenged into the clay bowl of water. "You are just a bit sick. They will forgive you that."

Pana nodded, her bottom lip puffing out. I offered a tiny smile to her as I swiped the previous contents of her stomach from her face and neck.

"I'm sorry," she said after I finished cleaning her up. Her voice grated harshley, painful to the ears. I winced.

"Don't be, baby," I said, rubbing her forehead with my fingers. Where was the person Svanna was to send? "It isn't your fault for being hungry. The Maker gave you hunger for a reason; if you do not sate it, things like this happen." I patted her thin tummy. "We will just get some food in you and you will be right as rain," I promised.

She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips pale. I inhaled worriedly, standing.

_Where is that_-?

The door opened, revealing none other than Fenris. His scowl dimmed the room, a near tangible presence.

"You?" I asked, disbelieving. "She sent _you?_" Not that Fenris was a bad choice, but he just did not seem...

I had never thought of him as...

Well, the man wasn't the _nurturing_ type.

He awkwardly held out a plate; I saw a wholesome meal of...

Old cheese and stale bread. My face fell.

"Is that all you could get?" Disappointed but understanding, I relieved him of the plate and returned to Pana. _You have to be thankful for what you get,_ I reminded myself. Fenris walked around me until he stood by her cot, standing over the both of us. I pressed my hand to her cheek, waking her back up.

"Sweetie? Fen- _Leto _brought food." Her eyes opened slowly, and I offered her a crust of bread, sticking it right to her lips.

"Malnourishment," Fenris murmured, ever the wise one.

_Way to point out the obvious, asshole._

"I'll return," he promised, and was gone from our side. I fed her the entire plate of cheese and bread until there was nary a crumb left; she still appeared to be sickly, but the small meal had alleviated some of the paleness from her face.

"Don't hock it back up, now," I warned, wagging my finger at her. Pana smiled.

"I hope not to," she croaked, turning her head to the side and sighing.

Bags were forming beneath my eyelids, and I knew how tired she had to be; we had received the same amount of sleep, and her body was still young. She would need it more. "Rest," I encouraged, standing. "You deserve it, Skinny."

I did not hear his light footsteps, but when I looked up, Fenris was beside me. He was holding out a tray of fresh fruit and vegetables. I felt my entire being brighten at the sight.

_How did he manage these?_I smiled tightly, but genuinely; the first happiness I had felt in a week.

_Perhaps he is not so evil._

I stood and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He tensed when we connected, but did not pull away; I stood on my toes, reaching far enough to whisper into his sharp ear.

"Thank you."

I was unsure of how he had managed to scrounge up _fresh_ food, but the feat was nothing short of amazing. My heart swelled with momentary pride for this conflicted, but well-intentioned Fenris.

And then it plummeted when I wondered about the repercussions he may possibly endure because of his gift – but I shook those despairing thoughts for the moment.

Fenris inhaled and exhaled deeply, and I felt his warm breath on my shoulder as his mouth opened.

"Sorry," he muttered hastily through his teeth, wrapping his free arm around my waist.

I released him and rested the plate of extra food on the floor, returning to Pana. She ate the food with avid interest, her face resuming a normal color towards the end of her meal.

I would never have thought of the snack of vegetables and fruit would be something to covet when I lived in Kirkwall, but I had never wanted for any kind of food. Now that I knew what it was like to go without, I doubted I would ever take a morsel for granted.

When I glanced up, Fenris was gone, but his presence remained. I smiled down at the floor, remembering his hasty apology.

_Apology accepted, no matter how you intended it__._

**-K-**

The Mistress's daughter arrived, but she was nothing so special. Her face had a ruddy, perpetually oily sheen. Her nose was too large for her face, her hair was ragged around her shoulders, but otherwise she was a decently-dressed young lady of ten and six.

Fenris disappeared a few times within the coming week; I assumed it was the extra hours of guard duty haunting him. The girl, Amelia, attracted several suitors within the first days of her arrival. It was impressive. They came bearing gifts and promises and hearty, snake-like smiles that everyone saw through immediately.

None of them really wanted Amelia. They wanted the small fortune set aside in her name by her mother, and none of their promises were genuine. It was quite unromantic; most of the men came seeking "contracts" for marriage instead of love; they sought to build empires instead of relationships.

I would have felt sorry for her if she was not a rotten bitch like her mother. She routinely denied us sleep when it suited her; she would have us prepare her a meal, only to throw it away when she announced she was no longer hungry.

It pained us all to throw out perfectly good food, but it was what the Young Mistress commanded.

Spiteful bitch.

I ignored her prattling and annoying tendencies, and attempted to stay out of her and her suitors' way. It would do me no kindness to spark their interest or ire.

As I lay down beside Pana that night, my stomach rumbled and my head ached from the young Mistress's orders. Sighing, Pana snuggled up to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

My body shut down gratefully, my head swirling with a harpy's voice and dark, murmured apologies.

**-K-**

"Marian," someone whispered. "Marian, wake up."

I groaned groggily, frowning. I did not sit up; a bump on my head had taught me better the _last (read: first)_time I had shot out of bed too quickly.

Sleeping underneath a giant, hulking piece of wood certainly had its drawbacks.

"Marian." It was Kornyn. What did Kornyn want?

_Oh_. My eyes shot open, meeting the amber jewels set in ivory. He grinned.

"Ready to dance?"

"Not really," I groused, rubbing sleep from my eyes and slipping from underneath the closet. I hoped the other slaves were soundly sleeping; I felt eyes on me, and knew it was not so. I patted Pana's hand and stood. "Let's go."

I was certain that my bare feet collected every particle of dirt and packed sand they crossed over, forming a black and dark brown mound on my instep. A mantra for each step formulated in my mind, a regular pacing to match my feet.

_Gross. _Step.

_Gross. _Step.

_Gross._ Step.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to not sound whiny. I wanted shoes. I wanted bed.

I wanted cookies, too, but only the first two were necessities.

"Just trust me," Kornyn shot back, grinning. "You need to get used to being dirty, Mary. You _are_ from Ferelden - you should be accustomed to reeking of dog!"

"Haha," I grumped. "You are hilarious."

"Aren't I?" he laughed. "Funnier than Leto?"

I groaned. "Do not mention that name to me." _Or I will begin feeling guilty._

"Would you prefer I call him Fenris?" he teased. "'Little wolf' is an odd name for a brute like him. I would rather call him 'Fat Head'."

I burst into laughter at that. "How would you say that, I wonder?"

"Damned if I know; do I look Dalish to you?" Kornyn turned around to face me. He walked backwards, not even turning when his feet faltered along the path. "How does it feel?"

"How does what feel?" I returned, still chuckling. The air was heavy with dust, the little stabs on the pads of my feet growing annoying.

"Being in love with a slave." His voice was deceptively nonchalant.

"I'm _not_ in love with Fenris," I snapped, mirth forgotten. "He is an annoying prick, and I-"

"I didn't say Fenris," Kornyn laughed. "But since you pointed him out to me..."

I shoved his shoulder. "Never mind. _You _are _clearly_ the most annoying one."

"I could get you out of here," Kornyn said, grinning to the stars with white teeth in russet skin. "It would not be easy, and I would have to call in favors, but if you could get Leto-"

"He wouldn't," I said, tucking my hands underneath my arms across my chest. The dry air of the desert was dropping in temperature in the night, raising goose bumps along my arms. "You know he wouldn't."

"If it were _you_ -"

"But it _won't_ be," I snapped, walking ahead of him. I would not chance it, not for a jerk like this Leto. Perhaps for _Fenris_, for his future self to be salvaged, but what then? I would not know him in that future. I would not travel to this past, I would never even meet him, which made every point moot. "Because he is rude and a perpetual jerk."

"He doesn't know you yet," Kornyn offered. "If you give him some time-"

"He knows me just fine," I growled, clenching my hands into fists. "I have tried to connect to him, I have tried to understand him. He will not accept me."

_You've kissed him twice._

_You've slept with him, to a certain extent._

_Who are you trying to convince, Marian?_

"You are a confusing woman," Kornyn observed, patting my shoulder. "One day you are snogging him in a hallway-"

"_Hey!_"

"-and the next you are yelling at him for doing his job," Kornyn finished, scratching behind his ear. "He can't help what he's told to do."

"He can," I insisted, resolute. "She does not control him."

"But she _does_," Kornyn replied, voice suddenly loud, demanding my attention. "If he doesn't obey, people get hurt much worse than they would have normally. It's easier to submit and keep your nose down." He pushed me in front of him lightly, towards a manor a half-mile off. "Don't blame him for being unable to make a split change just because of your presence."

"I have had to adapt to this," I said, motioning vaguely, signifying the situation. "It was not easy, but I knew it had to be done."

_He can do it, too._

"He is not so sure," Kornyn said, picking up the pace so that we were in step. His yellow eyes flashed at me, his grin damn near infectious. "He is trying, Mary. Doesn't that count?"

"Maybe," I grudgingly allowed. I rolled my eyes. "We are supposed to be having fun, and already you are working me up."

"And gotten you dirty," he pointed out cheerfully.

I chuckled. "You are insufferable."

"You like me all the same," he said with a laugh, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a run toward the mansion. "Come on, sister! I'm going to show you how we make up for all of our thankless work!"

**-K-**

It was not a large affair by any means; a few of the slaves had acquired – meaning stolen or made - instruments and were playing an exotic, halting melody in the corner. There were perhaps seventy people in the room, and the majority was in the center, dancing, while the others hugged the sides of the large, open room. Most were elves, some were human; some had the pale, Ferelden skin that I recognized. It made me homesick.

"Hey," said a voice behind me. I turned to see a handsome man that was about a foot taller than I was; his skin a pinkish pale and his eyes piercing blue. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," I returned, smiling at the company. "I'm Marian."

"Garrett," he said, extending his hand. "I'm from Ferelden."

"I can tell. I am, as well." I looked down at my feet. "I think."

"You think," he mused, chuckling. "That is one I have not heard before. What part of Ferelden do you 'think' you are from?"

I admired his beard for a moment, wondering if male slaves who were not elves were required to trim their beards at some point. "Lothering. You know it?"

"'fraid I don't," Garrett said, scratching his chin. "But Ferelden is a big place. I'm from Denerim, myself. A real port jumper, or so they said.

"I was captured from my ship," he sighed wistfully. "They took me from my bed in the middle of the night." His blue gaze rested on my face. "You?"

"I'm not sure," I hedged, unwilling to lie. "It all happened so fast..."

He nodded his head in understanding. "I get it." He laughed, shaking his head. "Hell, being captured by slavers is hardly a memorable experience."

"Right," I said, smiling politely as I glanced around for a sign of Kornyn. He had left to retrieve a drink refill for me a few minutes before I bumped into Garrett; he had entered the throng of people and I had yet to spot the familiar figure of him in the crowd.

Garrett and I stood for a few moments, before a rolling song with heavy drums began to play; an elven woman took the stage, blushing at all the attention. Garrett extended a hand to me; I eyed it warily before lending him mine, and he tugged me into the center of the room as soon as the elf began to sing, her voice carrying surprisingly loud for a woman her size. Her voice enveloped the room in a tight, hypnotized bubble, and we began to dance.

The room spun with bodies; all laughing, drinking. The night was a welcome reprieve from their lives, the pains of living for something you had no control over. The drums pounded in my veins, resounding through my chest, and I wanted to moan along with the singer as she crooned her native language to the crowd, face drawn. Someone jostled into me, and I was tossed into Garrett; we laughed and he wrapped his arms around me, spinning me around and raising my own arms with his, looking up at the ceiling of the grand room as the elf's voice bounced across it.

Bubbles popped in my chest, and I laughed at the smiling faces around me. The music was all I felt; we moved in tandem, countless bodies, slaves, humans, elves coexisting in one cohesive dance that left us all breathless, excited, pupils dilated, happiness palpable. We were of one body, we were of one mind, and I felt the first twinges of happiness that Kornyn had persuaded me to escape with him.

I bounced to the music and weaved through the bodies, leaving Garrett behind with a demure smile. I knew I owed Kornyn an apology, because I was definitely having more fun than I thought I would be having, but he would have to beat the words from me if he suspected they were there.

I found him at a fountain – probably stolen, and bubbling with wine – making a pretty young elf laugh. He turned and caught my eye, waving me over through the thickest of the people, but I shook my head, grinning at him. People were rushing by me, looks of invigoration on their faces, and I dove back into the throng, happy to be a part of something exciting. I watched as Kornyn grabbed a cup full of wine and leapt through the crowd, hopping through people until we were side by side, riding the music together.

"Hi!" he yelled, laughing and holding out the cup of wine. I leaned over and took a gulp, waving at him. Most of the drink spilled, but neither of us cared.

"Hi," I said breathlessly, wiping my forehead.

"Some party, huh?" he teased, raising his eyebrows.

"Some party," I agreed as the tempo slowed and people began staying in one place for longer than a few seconds.

"Want to dance?" His eyes were light, a pretty, golden hue.

"Promise not to take advantage of me?" I grinned, grabbing his hands readily and swaying with him.

He snickered. "No!" We danced anyway, wine dripping from our chins and intertwined fingers.

"Thank you for bringing me," I said, leaning in to speak in his ear. "It-"

Screaming; my head jerked up immediately, my hands freeing themselves. I could not tell where it had come; the music and my blood were still pounding, _pounding_, even when the small band collapsed on each other, their instruments being thrown to the ground. Chaos. After that scream, everyone broke apart; they all began running. I could not tell when Kornyn left my side; all I knew was that he was _gone, _that everyone was leaving, and I was being left behind. Why were they running?

What happened to the music?

More screams. Lights danced over the walls; flaming red, lightning blue, poisonous green. A ghost touched my shoulder and I halted, coughing, as I was shoved to the ground.

"Stay," Fenris growled. I obeyed, for once in my life, and he was gone. My head turned; I was stepped on as desperate feet ran past, screaming, always screaming, the sounds blending in my ears, becoming a single piercing cry. Someone dropped to the ground nearby; I could not see his face, but it looked like an elf. He was twelve feet away, and I saw the blood pool around him. I tried to reach out to help him, but something hit my stomach with surprising force.

I gasped and curled around the center of the abrupt pain, the wounded elf forgotten.

"Mistress," came a gruff, male voice from above me.

"_Away from her_," snapped a curt, deep voice. A pair of bare feet stepped in front of my face, and I blinked at them, finally realizing that I must be drunk or dreaming.

"One of my own," tsked Fausta. I felt my back straighten at the tone of her voice, automatically rebelling from the sound.

"Mistress," Fenris said, and I watched his toes dig into the floor, tensing and relaxing. He had queer feet; his long, shapely toes were crafted by the Maker to help him cross the land. I wondered if all elves had such feet. "This was at no fault of hers; I respectfully ask that you only give punishment where punishment is-"

"I am not asking your judgment, Leto," Fausta said, voice cold. I heard Fenris's jaw snap shut. A boot nudged my shoulder painfully, the rounded tip digging into my bone. "Girl, how did you get here?" My eyes wondered up Fenris's clothed leg, to his weapon, to the cords of his neck, to his face.

"Kornyn," Fenris interjected, eyes catching mine, expression controlled. "It was Kornyn, Mistress."

"I see," she said, voice detached and muffled as she turned. "Make sure he is dead and that I have a replacement ready."

"It is done, Mistress."

I inhaled sharply. Kornyn? Dead? I tensed, every part of me clenching.

"They can't kill him," I whispered to the floor, trying to lift my limbs and failing. Hands held me, arms lifted me. Fenris.

"Silence," he quieted me, voice rough but nearly silent.

"Help him," I urged, trying to push him away from me but not succeeding. "Don't let Kornyn die."

"There is no help for him to be had," Fenris muttered bleakly. "Stay quiet before you upset the Mistress further."

"You led them here, didn't you?" My voice was receding, fading. My eyes clouded as I realized that the desperate people around me could be dead because of Fenris.

"Do not be foolish."

I leaned my head on his shoulder as the adrenaline in my system diminished. "This is your fault," I accused, voice quiet. I knew he had some hand in this – who else would have known we were gone?

And I realized – several. There were _several_people who could have seen us leave – we were foolish, so foolish.

"You should not have come," Fenris responded. I felt the muscles beneath his skin move as his chest rumbled through mine.

I should not have come.

* * *

><p><strong>What do you do to remedy bad days?<strong>


	9. 07 Pipe Dream

**We seek solace in chocolate and beachy atmospheres, but a couple bowls of Rice Crispys and a good romance novel can cure my blues well enough.**

**And oh my Fen, FF hates italics.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>"<em>**_I have a very strong feeling that the opposite of love is not hate - it's apathy. It's not giving a damn." - Leo Buscaglia._

* * *

><p><strong>07. Pipe Dream<strong>

"_You're being ridiculous," complained the pirate, crossing her legs__ from my bed, watching me with amused eyes as I craned to get a comprehensive look at myself in my small square mirror. "He's already seen you naked; why not _go _naked?"_

_I groaned. "Isabela," I said in a warning voice, close to pulling my hair out in frustration_.

_Damn my mirror; I was normally not one for such vanities, as it was quite apt at pointing out my shortcomings, and I felt ridiculous as I awkwardly maneuvered around it to better see my reflection. "Do I look presentable, or not?"_

_"You look prudish," Isabela said bluntly, leaning her head on her fist, one side of her curvy lips lifting. Her dusky hair tumbled over her shoulders and onto the swells of her breasts, and I felt a twinge of surprising jealousy at her long hair._

_I tugged on my own short strands, willing them to grow and then patting them back down with a deep, resigned breath_.

"You _would think so," I said, twirling in front of the mirror to check my backside again. It was covered; not at all Isabela's style._

_"You're still wearing armor, technically; if you wanted to look nice, you would go in a real dress," Bela pointed out to me. I scowled at her. "A real short one, of course," she purred between parted lips._

_"I don't want to be obvious about it."_ _I frowned. Was I being obvious about it? Should I just don my regular leather armor and forget looking nice? I had traded my protective, leather armor for a set of robes – a nice green pair, very dressy, but still minimal. It could be counted as armor, but I felt disheartened suddenly – walking about in robes would surely cue the templars in on an unregistered mage in their midst, and besides..__._

_It just wasn't my style._

_"Babe, if you want to attract him back, you should probably show more skin."_

_"Again, Isabela, _you_ would say so. I am not a harlot."_

_"I never said you were," Isabela said defensively, her back straightening. "Just slice of a few inches from the bottom and show the elf some damn leg. It will lessen the "robey" look and give him something to think about later."_

_I stared at her, surprised by such advice. "You're not completely daft after all, are you?"_

_She smiled, forehead creasing and sinuous lips pouting; if I had not known her to be a pirate, I would have been able to tell by the roughness of her dark skin and the wildness in her eye. "It's part of the masks we wear, sweet. If we were all serious all the time, we would all be dead from stress__."_

_I chuckled,_ _testing the fabric of the robes around my shoulders. "I could probably take off these long sleeves, too," I mused, tugging the material from my skin. "And a bit around the bust…"_

_Isabela leapt up, bearing a dagger from inside her long boot. "Say no more! I've got you covered!_

_"__She chuckled. "In a matter of speaking, of course." I jumped as she started towards me, my hands upraised._

_"Not too much!" I begged as she knelt, a frightening glint in her eye._

_"Of course not," she placated as she took a few inches too much from the robes._

_"Isabela!"_

_"You'll thank me later, I promise!"_

_It was a few hours yet that I was to arrive at Fenris's mansion – or, rather, the mansion that he was squatting in; but when the time came, I was striding my way to his doorstep, nervous from the air hitting the bare skin above my knees__._

_I had brought a shortened staff as well as a blade as a precaution, and they were concealed, as they normally were, by my thigh. I was worried that someone could spot them strapped there, but it was a fleeting fear compared to the one more pressing__._

What will Fenris think?

_I squared my shoulders. _Who cares? I am only here to give him a reading lesson; it is not as if it is the wrong weather for such clothing, anyway.

Keep telling yourself that.

_I took a deep breath, and knocked on the door._

Tap. Tap. Tap.

_I waited, knowing that he was probably sulking upstairs awaiting my arrival and would have to walk a ways to open the door._

_After a few minutes of silence, I knocked again._

Rap. Rap. Rap.

_More minutes passed; I grew worried._

Pound. Pound. Pound.

"_Fenris?" I called, still beating on the door. "Hello?"_

_Perhaps he is out. Perhaps he forgot I was coming tonight._

_I sighed and sat on his stoop, waiting for him to come home; he would come eventually, I was certain. He never forgot our engagements, and I knew for certain that he would not be out of town on a job._

_So I waited._

_I waited there while the moon crossed the inky sky._

_I remained until the moon sank and the sun streaked the air pink._

_When I finally left, the cocks were crowing, my eyes were dry, and my bones were weary._

_He had not let me in._

He had not let me in.

_My feet dragged on the walk home; I fell onto my bedding and cried at my own stupidity, wishing that my mother were there to pat my hair and assure me that he was just a man and would be easily forgotten__._

_Except he was not "just a man"._

_He was_ Fenris.

_Miserable, I did not leave my bed until Aveline came calling for me to help her with a few bandits outside of the city. Even then I merely put on a brave face and wiped my cheeks as I went to meet her; my legs still trembled as I abandoned the tart robes for my more appropriate attire, my heart hammered as I met my crew at the Hanged Man and we prepared to leave the city._

_Fenris did not meet my eye that day as we worked together._

_Or the next._

_Eventually, I stopped trying to catch_ his.

**-PD-**

I awoke alone, in unfamiliar territory. Stripes of light crossed my face from the barred window as I jerked awake, glancing around the room wildly before I remembered why I was there.

Mistress Fausta did not own a dungeon, but she may as well have.

She had forgone the simple beatings as punishment for my trespass of conduct; after all, I was merely a symptom of the even greater problem that she faced. I was not responsible for the party, and she would more than likely have more conspirators to apprehend and punish. I remembered dancing with Garrett, dancing with Kornyn.

I remembered Fenris as he showed no sign of caring at the news of his only friend's death.

I shut my eyes. My mouth was extraordinarily dry; my tongue felt abnormally large and my lips kept sticking together. Fenris had already told the Mistress that my being there was Kornyn's fault.

All I could think was that it was _his_ fault that Kornyn had been punished. He had to have lead the hunt for the party. How else could he have been the first disruption to arrive upon the scene? Fausta was the first magister to show; _her_ guards were the ones that gave such starting uproar,_ her _guards that...

_I should have said no._

I had been locked inside of a large, empty closet that I did not recognize. I wondered why no one utilized this space, but then it occurred to me that she needed a long-term punishment for unruly slaves.

Slaves like me.

The bad ones.

I was denied food, but starvation was not a new concept for me. The isolation, the separation from the goings on in the mansion – _that_was painful. I worried about Pana, and how her tender heart handled the news of Kornyn's death.

Then I realized that death was never far away from slaves like us, and I wept bitter tears over the sadness of the rotten lives of slaves.

"_You will not kill another with your ignorance.__"_

_-_**PD-**

Fenris came to me in the early morning. My senses were dulled with hunger and sleep deprivation, but I did not so much as glance at the tray of food he brought in.

_Your fault._

_My fault._

He sat down on a nearby stool as I hunched beneath the only window, shakily exhaling my trepidation at how close he came to me.

"You and Kornyn..." Fenris began, breaking the silence. There was a contrast of shadows and light striping across his angular face from the window before him; I peered at his dark hair, noting the way the sun glinted auburn across the strands.

I diverted my eyes. I did not want to talk to him about Kornyn. I did not want to look at his face, nor his hair.

"You seemed," he said carefully. "Close." Fenris cleared his throat. "I am...sorry that you have endured such grief."

My eyes flickered to his face; his head was slightly bowed towards me, his expression schooled.

But I could tell.

Fenris never said he was sorry for any one thing, yet he had now apologized to me twice.

He inhaled through his nose. "We grew up here together," he shared reluctantly. "He was a brother. A good friend." He smiled grimly. "Had bad judgment."

I snorted wetly, my eyes stinging. Bad judgment that got him killed.

I cradled my head in my hands. _Da. Bethany. Carver. Mom_.

Why did _this _death sting so sharply?

Death haunted my every step, even _before_ I had whispered to a rock in the Black Emporium. I had known many men and women that had died; even so, _this_loss stung in a profound, confusing way.

"He was family," Fenris mumbled uncomfortably, shifting.

Kornyn had been my companion from the beginning, accepting me without question. He hid my interest in Fenris, had ignored my quirks. He _was _family, I realized. To everyone, it seemed; he was well liked, if not respected, by nearly every person he met. Even to those who knew him to be a trouble maker.

And his last request had been made to me.

_Take Leto with you._

I peered at Fenris beneath my bangs. Why should I help him? What had he ever done for me but cause unnecessary pain?

I had thought that he was changing, growing underneath my tender coaxing, but my hopes were in vain. I looked away from him again, and he sighed, the sound echoing flatly in the silent, hard room.

It was not as if I were able to escape; I did not even have a plan. Kornyn had said he would help me; without him, I did not stand a chance.

"He was the first person here to accept my situation," Fenris said, looking up and holding my eyes. "I was thought of as having more freedom than the others." He grunted a low laugh, his fingers snaking into his dark hair. "They were wrong. If anything, I have even less freedom.

"My family was owned by a prodigious magister named..." He swallowed. "It does not matter now. He passed, and he left all of his slaves in the hand of a Master Petre." He broke eye contact to stare at the ceiling, uncomfortable and nervous. "My family was separated."

I perked up. He still had family?

_Family_?

My mouth opened to spill the question forth, but words would not form. This was _big_. Fenris had family. They were slaves, but they were alive _now_. Who knew if they would not be alive in the future?

I shut my mouth.

No. I could not ask.

He was trying to trick me into feeling sympathy, was he not?

I settled for glaring sullenly at his knees, my lips wound tightly together in a frown.

"My mother and sister were sold to a magister named Numos," Fenris continued, swallowing dryly. "Stubborn as I was, I fought to be taken with them.

"Instead of being sold directly to Magister Numos, I was given to Fausta as punishment for my rebellious nature. Numos, however, was interested in me. He told Fausta that if I misbehaved, he would offer my - my mother and sister," his voice caught and he cleared it. "He would offer them up as a sacrifice to Fausta, should I ever need punishment.

"However," he continued, voice empty. "If I remain acquiescent, I am granted privileges."

Privileges?

He could not have seen the question on my face, but he answered. "I am allowed to see them seasonally; a permission granted only if I obey my orders. If Fausta has reason, she will revoke these privileges."

His eyes were sad, and he would not look at my face.

He missed his family.

I would not allow myself to feel sympathy.

_It is not worth it._

My stomach growled. I missed my family, too.

I sat still, stoic and faint, staring blankly at him.

He allowed his best friend's death; I was certain that he could have stopped the confusion that had happened, but he chose not to. He may not have been directly involved, but he could have protected _Kornyn_, too.

Two bells rang throughout the manor, and he sighed.

"I'll return," Fenris promised, standing and retrieving the untouched tray of food. He did not want to leave evidence. My stomach rumbled as I watched it go, but my pride would not allow me to grab a roll of bread. "Is there anything you want me to bring you?"

I did not desire anything of him but his departure. It hurt to see his face, to confront my own failure in his eyes.

"I will return," he whispered one final time. "The Mistress has ordered that you receive no food." He swallowed. "I would ask that you eat when I come back."

The door shut quietly behind him, his footsteps undetectable as he left me alone.

It was just as well.

**-PD-**

_You are trying to get Fenris killed._

Was I?

_You have already caused one friend's death; why not kill them all with your idiocy?_

_Do not let _him _face the consequences of _your _actions._

_You wish you had never come__._

_You want Fenris to pay for what he caused._

I struggled with that thought, the estranged desire. Did he truly cause Kornyn's death?

Did I really want him to _suffer _because of it?

I frowned at the thought of Fenris in any kind of pain.

_If Fenris had not provoked you, you would not have gone._

Was it _my_ fault?

If I had not gone, would Kornyn have?

_Fenris saved your life_, the dreamer inside of me whispered.

Would Fausta have killed me?

There could be no doubt. If Fenris had not so adamantly defended me, protected me, I would have...

_Perhaps that is what should have happened._

My brow furrowed. I should have died? Fenris should have _let _me die?

_Perhaps you would have been sent home._

I rubbed my face. That sounded quite risky, yet home sounded amazing - a place where I only had to clean after myself. Familiar territory. I would see Fenris again - the Fenris that I _knew _- and I could tell him to finally fuck off.

I bit my lip. I didn't want Fenris to _go_.

_He has caused much of your pain and confusion._

_He is all you have left_, the small voice retaliated. _You wanted to understand him, remember?_

He helped me when things were at their worst, when my family drifted away and my life crumbled.

He always had my back. In battle, in life; even now, when he barely knew me from Andraste, he had saved me. From death. From starvation.

My stomach growled and I recalled the last words I had spoken to him - the last words I had spoken to _anyone_.

_This is your fault._

Did I believe that?

The _look_ on his face...

Did _he _believe that?

_I don't blame you__, _I said internally, holding my breath until my lungs burned and ached. I would not cry over him any longer.

A tear leaked from the corner of my eye as I heaved, holding my chest, nausea getting the better of me.

_So much wine._

Kornyn is dead.

_It's so cold._

_I'm so hungry._

_I'm so tired._

_Why can't I sleep?_

_Should I be dead?_

I could not sleep; my eyes were wide open, despite my efforts to close them. Kornyn dead, myself dead, _Fenris _dead; these images plagued me.

It was difficult to rest with these troubling thoughts infecting my mind. I could feel myself growing delirious, yet I had no idea of how to stop the flowing of my thoughts towards disturbing waters.

The sun was setting before I heard anything other than the cries of wayfaring birds beyond my window. Black spots swam in my vision when I sat up quickly, my movements sluggish, dizzy.

The door opened, the light stirring of bare feet entering the room. I jerked to my feet, swaying, having difficulty focusing on his face.

"Fenris," I slurred. The air smelled of warm bread. The gnarled, starved space inside of me barely reacted beyond a brief lurch.

I could not think of food.

Food was unimportant - when I arrived home, I would dine on the finest wine and ripest fruits at my table.

Or at least the respectable mulch they served at the Hanged Man.

Fenris paused in the doorway, eyes wary. Of me? Why should he be cautious?

I lifted my hands and laid them on his cheeks, memorizing his strange, familiar face. I traced down his chin, where the markings would be, down his neck, past his arms and to his fingers, stroking the invisible lines in my memory.

He set the tray of food on the stool beside us and let me lift his hands to my face.

I pushed his hands around my neck, holding them closed and squeezing, constricting my own airway.

_Home, home, home._

He started, shaking me from him almost violently. I reached for his hands again.

_"Marian,"_he hissed tersely, jaw hard. He jerked away from my searching hands. "What are you-"

"I want to go home," I said, frowning. His hands evaded me once more. "Please," I begged, rushing forward and pushing him against the wooden door, my head feeling light. "Help me." I reached around his belt for the thin sword I knew he carried, but he staid my hands.

"Don't," he admonished stiffly, back straight. "Don't do this, Marian. You are not thinking straight - you're exhausted." He pushed my hands away from his belt. "I will not allow you to hurt yourself."

Didn't he understand? "You will _save_ me, Fenris," I murmured, my bones turning to liquid. My knees locked to keep me mostly upright, but I sagged heavily onto his shoulder.

He sighed, lifting me around my waist and carrying me to the window. He set me down, leveling me with the wall and kneeling beside me. "You're starving," he said bleakly. I licked my chapped lips, dazedly staring into his face. "You do not want me to kill you, Marian."

I poked out my bottom lip. "But I'm so _tired_," I moaned, leaning towards him. I wanted my house, my bed, my _friends_.

I wanted my life back.

He sighed and I rested my head on his shoulder. "I've already saved you once," Fenris lamented. "Do not push your luck."

He _had _saved me.

He had chosen me over Kornyn.

"Fenris?" I asked the skin of his neck, my sticky lips grazing his skin. He shivered in response. "Do you hate me?"

My voice may have cracked.

His arm came around my shoulders, the warmth welcome. "I was under the impression that _you_ hated _me_."

I felt my eyes tear up. "I couldn't," I swore, wrapping my arms around him. He made a startled sound as I fell onto him. "I could never hate you, Fenris," I sniffed, pressing my cheek to his neck.

His hands grabbed my waist, sliding up the side of my ribcage. "You need to eat," he said hoarsely.

"I will," I promised wetly; some part of my mind was mildly irritated by my weakness, but I did not let it affect me. "I don't hate you."

"I know," Fenris's dark bangs covered his eyes as he rested his head against the floor.

"I don't hate you," I sobbed, crushing myself to him with feeble force. It was important he understand. "I _don't_."

"It's fine," Fenris implored, voice sounding uncomfortable.

"No, it is not," I insisted, briefly considering asking him to send me home again. I could not, though. He had to understand that I did not hate him before that.

It was _important._

He sat up, pushing me awkwardly with him. "You can apologize when you are properly lucid," he said, lifting and leaving me on the floor. "And not suicidal. Then, I may take you at your word."

My head was heavy. I didn't know where to lean, so it flopped backwards on my shoulders. I was unable to focus on any one detail, my mind incapable of higher thinking.

The tray he brought with him loomed in front of my vision, and I sighed in appreciation of the hearty smell. Fenris removed the lid on the bowl, exposing a brown colored broth to me.

"Eat," he commanded.

"But I'm not hungry." I smiled at him for being concerned. "Just tired."

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Eat, and then I will allow you rest."

"Will you stay with me?" I asked, hesitantly reaching for a roll and missing, my fingers glancing across the wooden tray. I chuckled at myself. "Oops."

He sat on his knees, grabbing the roll himself and placing it at my lips. "For a time," he said vaguely.

Satisfied with his response, I took a bite of the crunchy bread, the hard crumbs rubbing in my throat uncomfortably. I had to swallow several times to rid myself of the small, stabbing pains.

He lifted a goblet of water, and I immediately gulped as much as my mouth could carry, sputtering when I swallowed the wrong way. He pulled the water away and I protested, coughing.

"Eat," he ordered, lifting a spoonful of soup to my mouth. I practically inhaled it from the dirty utensil, sucking down every drop greedily.

I had not known I was so ravenous.

When the soup disappeared, he swabbed the bowl with the remainder of the bread, moistening it before letting me finish it off.

He watched me drink the entirety of the remainder of the glass of water before he pushed the tray away and rolled onto the floor. I collapsed beside him, snuggling into his side and feeling tiredness seep into my bones.

My faced burned lightly as clarity eventually blossomed in my foggy mind; I realized that I had made a fool of myself in front of him.

_Yet again._

He turned his head away from me, and in the waning light I saw him swallow. I wrapped my arm around his torso and pulled him tight, my hand grazing the bottom of his shirt. I smiled when he did not tense or push me away.

_This Fenris is not afraid of touch._

"I'm sorry," I whispered, closing my eyes and leaning my head against his collar. He said nothing, so I continued. "For upsetting you." I was feeling more myself after the small meal, able to focus.

Able to realize that I had been an ass, asking Fenris to kill me. I winced.

"Shh," he urged, his arm snaking behind my back, finally returning my affection.

"I'm so stupid," I grieved, squeezing him tighter. My brain was slowly picking up the pace, the meal I had consumed aiding my thought process. My fingers slipped farther up his bare back beneath his shirt. "I should not have-"

"It is not your fault," he snapped, grasping me tightly.

"If I had said -"

Fenris leaned down, his hair brushing my forehead. I stopped mid speech as he wrapped his hands around my waist, lifting me to meet his lips.

My fingers dug into his skin and I gasped, pressing myself to him. He let me deepen the kiss, opening his mouth and allowing my tongue entrance. His hold on me tightened when our tongues met, massaging together.

My hand slipped even farther up his back, pressing into his skin, grasping him. My finger slipped against a rough patch on his skin, and my brow furrowed as my mouth stilled.

I pulled away from him, but his lips chased after me, seeking. I avoided them.

"What is that?" I asked, running the pads of my digits over the scab. Alarmed, I sat up, feeling my head swim with the sudden movement

"It is nothing," Fenris's low voice rumbled. I tapped his chest.

"Turn over," I said, resting my hand on him.

He groaned, his hair falling heavily over his face. "No."

"Please?" I asked, voice whispery. He conceded finally with a sigh, rolling onto his stomach and baring his svelte back for my observation.

_I wish all of our battles were this easily won._

I pushed the tail of his shirt up to the small of his back, squinting in the dark to see evidence of what I had only felt before.

My mouth opened to speak, but no words came. Thick lines of scabs crossed his back, evidence where a whip - nay, a _cane _- had bitten into his skin. I traced the gruesome marks, leaning down to place a light kiss to a deep cut lancing his shoulder blades.

"Is _this _my fault, as well?"

I could go nowhere without inflicting pain. I sat on my heels, scrutinizing his injury. The breaks in his skin were fresh, and I flinched as I imagined the pain he had endured to bear the marks.

"Nothing is your fault," Fenris rumbled, leaning onto his elbows.

"Then why were you beaten?" _Recently. Not months ago. Not years ago._

Weeks ago.

If not days.

It was still in the process of healing.

He sat up, adjusting his shirt to hide his flesh from my eyesight. "I...was punished."

"I can tell," I snorted, blinking back water. Fenris did not turn to face me after his shirt was back in place, and I longed to see his face, even as shame burned my own.

"The Mistress called for ten lashes on Pana," he said, a frown in his voice. "I only dealt five; I was dealt the remainder of her punishment, plus ten for a reminder."

I knew he would not need a reminder.

Would he pay the price for my folly of grossly disobeying my Mistress and leaving the castle?

"Fenris," I said, voice thick. "I didn't- I wouldn't-" I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding onto him, knowing that there was really nothing I could do to make anything right anymore. "I'm sorry."

His muscles rippled beneath my arms and I clutched him tighter. He twisted around in my arms until his head could fall comfortingly into the crook between my shoulder and jaw.

"I am fine," Fenris insisted, his long arms locking behind me. "I knew the consequences my actions would have, and I have faced them willingly." I felt the firm line of his mouth move against the skin of my neck. "You have made drastic changes to my behavior."

I wished that we did not have to worry about consequences like this. The Mistress had let Kornyn die, had caned Fenris, locked me away...

"Will she whip you for saving me severe punishment?" I asked fearfully, only mildly comforted by the heat of his embrace.

"I assume so," he said tiredly. My eyes clenched shut and I pushed my face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in the loose fabric of his shirt.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, trying to break my frown before it formed. Fenris said nothing as we held each other in the waning light of the evening.

I could not help but care about what else she would do, if we continued being stubborn and careless. I realized that we would have to be much, much more careful.

It was not just Fenris or I on the line. I had been foolish, tactless - everything about my behavior had been rash and stupid. When had I ever stopped and thought that, maybe, my influence would be detrimental to Pana? Or that attending a forbidden party with Kornyn could possibly endanger his life?

I took a deep breath and sat up, resting on my calves, releasing Fenris. I had behaved like a child - a teenager, even. He rose to lean on his arms, regarding me with a wary expression on his face. I stared at his skin; it seemed much lighter now that there were no contrasting pale lines curving through it, but his flesh was still darker than my own. There were scars, though most were small; I traced the imperfections with my eyes, trying to remember if I had ever noticed Fenris having scars before – other than the obvious lyrium lines.

I made up my mind to be careful. If Fenris and I were...something, I would not let anyone else bear that burden or take the fall. If I messed up again, I would not let anyone be punished because of me.

That included Fenris's mother and younger sister.

The fact that he had family at all blew my mind a little.

"Fenris?" I addressed him hesitantly, seeing him stare at me patiently from below.

"Yes?" he responded, hands open and relaxed at his sides. His eyes were calm, if guarded.

"What do you feel for me?" I asked, my eyes falling down onto my wrists. I had to know how deep we were going to run, how much we could bear to suffer for this. If what we had was substandard, or even one-sided...

"I-" Fenris coughed, drawing my eyes back to his pink face. "It- it is soon," he said, cheeks flaming. "I am still unsure if this is a good idea or not."

"It isn't," I said, grimacing. "I see that now.

"I just know that I don't..." I struggled with the words. "I cannot ignore you or what we..." I motioned between us. "Are."

"Neither can I," Fenris said, voice even. "You are strange and foolhardy," he clarified, leaning forward and tentatively enclosing me in his arms again, pulling me near his lap. "But the thought of being absent from your presence is sickening."

Well.

"Even if I caused your best friend's death?" I whispered to his shoulder. He tensed.

"That was not your fault." His voice was hard. "Kornyn was the one who put you into direct danger."

"You miss him." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "You used to spend much of your time with him."

"Before you came," he said, dipping his head into my neck. "And switched my routine."

"Fenris?" I asked as the question came to me. My heart fluttered. "Have you ever thought about..." I trailed off, voice catching.

_Try._

He would be furious with me for even considering... after all that had...

_Try._

"About?" he inquired, and I pressed my face into his hair. "About what?" When I did not respond, he grew annoyed. "Answer me," he demanded.

I decided to let it all out at once.

That tactic had always served me well before.

Sometimes.

Not really.

"Have you ever thought about escaping from here?" My words were tentative.

"Absolutely not," Fenris's hard voice declared resolutely, pulling away. My heart plummeted.

"But it-"

"No," he cut me off, scowling. "Are you daft?" he growled at me. "You are facing the repercussions of one mistake and already planning the next!"

He grumbled beneath his breath, but I distinctly heard the words "Fereldan" and "insane mongrels".

"It was just a-"

"_No_," he said, tone final. I shrank away from him as his voice echoed angrily. "No," he repeated in a softer, but no less firm, tone. "You will keep your head down, do you understand? You cannot call such attention to yourself. You are already wandering upon thin ice as it is," he warned seriously. "Do not even consider such notions."

Fine, then. But I was not finished - I doubted I would ever give up the war for our - for _his _- freedom.

Even if I had to lose a few battles.

"Sorry," I mumbled, ducking my head.

Fenris sighed irritably, running his hand over his face. "Why do you do this?" He fell backwards onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Do what?" I asked, chewing on the inside of my lip nervously.

"Make me feel like an ass," he griped, pulling on my arm, beckoning me to lie with him. "I am sorry I snapped at your words. I do not wish to see you injured," he continued, his taut arm holding my waist tightly as I slid next to him. "Or have to dole out your punishment."

Oh.

He did not want to be forced to whip me.

_Yes,_ I decided. _That would be unfortunate._

I recalled the sting of his whip as it lightly grazed my cheek and grimaced.

"Please think about it," I implored. "If anything."

"There is nothing to even contemplate," Fenris insisted tiredly. "Can we rest?"

"But there is _everything_," I breathed my disagreement as removed his arm from his face to wrap around me. "Can you even imagine being free? Having no man own your actions? No one to answer to?"

"If I say yes, will you rest?"

I smiled at his approach. "Yes."

"Very well," he grunted, relaxing onto his back. "I will...consider it."

It was all I could hope for.

For tonight, at least.

"Thank you," I said sincerely, placing a kiss on his neck and snuggling into his shoulder.

"Sleep," was the last word I heard rumble through his chest.

**-PD-**

_Stale beer, rust, wet wood._

_Too loud, yet comforting; it felt more like home than anywhere else in Kirkwall._

_Smiling, though I did not feel happy; in the pit of my stomach, butterflies fluttered._

_I sat beside Anders, across from Fenris. I did not meet his eyes; I was scared of what uncontrolled reaction I would have to him and whatever look was on his face._

I felt his eyes linger on me a few times.

_Our rounds of cards lasted longer than usual; Varric had many stories, most inappropriate, but even Aveline laughed as Merrill grew confused by his linguistic prowess and lewd narrative._

_Fenris was quiet; I did not mean to be unfriendly and silent, but Anders leaned over me a few times to ask me if I was fine._

_He may have been peeking at my cards in the meanwhile, but I did not care; I did not need such superfluous amounts of money in my wallet. Anders had a free clinic to run; if I had to lose to anyone, I would much rather lose to him._

_We broke the games late in the night; Isabela took most of my purse with her when we left, as she normally did._

_I had a shadow behind on my walk home; it was dark, but the moon was shining. There were no thugs in the streets, and the air was humid, relaxing._

_Why did my shadow not approach me?_

_He had to know that I knew he was there._

_Still, Fenris made no move to speak to me until I had shut the door of my house behind me. I heard no footsteps, but knew that he had finally left me be. I curled against the door and sighed longingly, running my fingers through my hair and wondering where I had gone wrong._

"Get up."

My head was foggy, my mouth full of cotton and my limbs were made of rubber. I smacked my lips languidly, stretching my neck and feeling it pop.

_Ouch. No more sleeping on the floor, please._

"Get up," Svanna said, crossing the cramped room. She glanced around in distaste. "Leto was here, was he not?"

"Leto?" I mumbled, blinking sleep from my eyes. Who was Leto?

"Get _up_, I say." Svanna's bony fingers wrapped around my wrist and I rose, yawning. "If the Mistress were to find out..." she trailed off, sighing."No, she more than likely already suspects."

"What?" Her clipped words were difficult to follow. I still was not entirely certain where I was.

My bed usually was more comfortable.

And, you know, a _bed _and not the floor.

Weird.

"Marian," Svanna said, kneeling in front of me. "You blithering fool, you are going to get the both of you killed.

"Now get _up_."

"_Who _is getting killed?" I stretched, my words blurring together with lingering sleep.

It was probably Isabela.

Isabela was always doing something half-brained and rash.

_No wonder we are such good friends._

"_You _are, if you do not start watching your backside."

Was it the Arishok?

No, the Arishok was only biding his time; he had no reason to strike, unless he grew restless on his corner of land at the ports.

It was probably the Templars, then.

Templars invariably found me, even at the corners of civilization.

A hand twisted in my hair, wringing me upwards by the back of my head. "Ow, ow, _ow_!" I screeched, rising quickly, leaning backwards onto my feet gingerly to alleviate the pressure she caused. "What the hell is your _issue_, woman?"

"_You_ are my issue," Svanna growled, shoving my back to the wall to glare at my face openly. I rubbed my eyes, returning her spiteful gaze with a glare of my own.

"We need to have a talk, mage."

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><p><strong>F is for:<strong>


	10. 08 Dance of the Hour

**F is for frightening, fluff, FUN, frappuccinos and Fenris! (And…some other…naughty things. ;P)**

**Shouting out to the people who have added Anachronism to their alert list and me to their favorite authors list! –waveexcitedohmahgahhappiness****-**

* * *

><p><em>Never give a sword to a man who can't dance.<em>_ - Confucius_

* * *

><p><strong>08. Dance of the Hour<strong>

_Mage._

I leaned my back against the wall, paling as I realized where I was and the significance of what she just said. I gaped at Svanna, my vocabulary momentarily forgotten.

"E-excuse me?" I stuttered, eyes wide.

_She knows._

Oh, Maker, she knows, she knows.

"Don't bother looking surprised," Svanna said with a scowl on her sharp face. "You are hardly proficient at hiding what you are, especially to those of us who are sensitive to such crafts."

"_S-sensitive?_" I jerked as she took a step sideways and inhaled. "What are you playing at?"

"What am _I_ playing at?" she barked harshly, the lines on her face exaggerated with anger. "You would be better served to dissect what _you_ are playing at, child!" Svanna took a step back and began to pace in the tiny room. "Do you have any idea what sort of damage you have caused since you arrived?" She shook her head angrily, her feet quickening their rapid pace. "Punishments, disruptions, even _death_," she seethed. "Everyone else must endure while you suffer not for your crimes!"

I did not know what to say; I stared, eyes wide at the frenzied woman before me, unsure of how to diffuse her.

"No," Svanna stopped her hurried pacing to stare at me, her eyes narrowed. "No, this is not about _you_. This is about _Leto_; this is about the two of you being foolish together." She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Stay away from him."

My eyes snapped to meet hers. "No."

Svanna glared. "You had Kornyn killed." Her words bit at me, and I flinched at the fury in her voice. "I will not see Leto suffer the same treatment."

I sucked in a breath. "I will _not_let-"

"That is not up to you!" she exploded, her hands flying to her sides in fists. "You are a danger to the people of this house, Marian, and I will not have you toying around when lives are at stake!"

"Do you really think that I would allow something to happen to him? To –" _Fenris_ "Leto?" I clenched my teeth together in anger at the _gall_she had.

"Why not? You have allowed others to suffer for your mistakes before," Svanna said, composing herself minimally. She wiped stray strands of dark hair from her face, sticking them into the bun atop her head. "Is it so strange that I would worry for – for a boy that has grown beneath my tutelage?" She shook her head, a look of disgust crossing her face. "I have known this life far longer than you have, and I know the consequences that follow witless _humans_such as yourself."

My mouth fell open at her audacity. "_Wit_less?" I growled, pushing from the wall to stand at my full height. "You think I have not had any wit to last as long as I have?" My own fists clenched in anger and I felt the vein in my temple pound away with my frantic pulse at our escalating verbal battle. "If I were truly witless, I would have been dead before I even set foot in this mansion."

In the tense silence that followed our outbursts, Svanna and I glared at each other. She straightened her skirt, tugging at the wrinkles. "Stay away from Leto," she warned again.

"I am afraid that I cannot do that." Not for her. Not for anyone.

"Even for his life?" she challenged.

I closed my eyes, hiding them from her piercing orange ones. "I-"

"Never mind." Svanna breathed, and I saw the composed woman that I knew her to be. She cleared her throat. "I…forgive me," she said, closing her eyes and clutching her throat as if pained. "Kornyn…" She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, puckering the lines on the sides of her mouth. When her eyes reopened, they were glassy. "It is time you rejoined the rest of us; the Mistress has added longer working hours as further penance. Go downstairs and clean the floors of the hallways; I want them spotless by noon."

My mouth popped open, yet again, as she swiftly exited the room and left the door swinging open behind her.

**-DH-**

Glaring at the door to the kitchens, I growled under my breath, scrubbing the floor in one the hallways.

After the shock of Svanna's interception had worn off, I realized my prime response was anger.

_What right does she have to tell me my business? _

Fenris was old enough to make his own decisions; Maker forbid someone think for_ themselves _in this hellhole of a prison. No, all of our decisions were made by a haughty Magister and her pathetic, spoiled daughter; and when they were not made by either of _them_, we were given orders and being judged by Svanna.

I raged, wearing a hole into the grand wooden floors with my furious rubbing, mentally ticking off a list of different insults with each sweep of the rag. _Stupid, annoying, nosy, bitchy, confusing__..._

I was lathering the rag with more suds from my pail when I heard it: the sound of faint music drifting down the empty corridor. My brow pulled together and my head snapped up; I cocked my neck, trying to pinpoint the direction from which the curious sound came.

Dumping my washrag into the bucket and standing, I picked my way delicately down the hall, curiosity getting the better of me yet again as I tiptoed, hoping not to disturb whatever was happening. My bare feet slapped against the floor lightly, but it could hardly be heard over the faint music floating in the air.

The music...the closer I approached it, the easier it was to place. It originated from the wing I had never laid eyes on, as it was hardly used and as such seldom cleaned. It was a waltz, I assumed; before my mother had given up teaching me to be a well-rounded lady, she insisted that I attend local dances and balls. I had enough experience to guess at the dance and the music, perhaps even the instruments if I could hear them well enough.

What these instruments spun sounded similar to what I had danced to; the rising and falling chords, the spinning, dizzying melody. By ear, I placed a hydraulus, a lyra, and a tibia. I could not tell if there was more than one of each without looking for myself, but I was too afraid to rush in and get into trouble.

I smirked to myself as I tiptoed down the hall. Part of me realized this was just me getting back at Svanna for intruding upon my personal life; I knew, in some twisted, dark form of expression, that she meant well. She would be absolutely _crimson _with anger if she saw me here, abandoning my work for an idle fancy, especially in light of recent events.

Still, the music _was _a mystery.

One I intended to solve.

Tremendous luck found me in the form of a cracked door; I bit my lip to hide my glee as I leaned forward, peeking into the room. I could not see anyone, at first; then, as the music drastically dropped and subsequently rose, and two figures rocked into my view.

I gasped when I saw him: he looked absolutely stunning in a plain white tunic and matching pants; they juxtaposed marvelously with his darkly toned skin and dusky hair, and my eyes widened when I saw him bend over Amelia, one hand on hers, the other under her arm. _What the hell?_

The music recommenced the quick tempo once more, the flowing melody a fine tribute to the musicians that were playing. Fenris spun Amelia the bitch daughter around gracefully on the marble floor, her heels clicking off time with the uplifting beat. He moved with a grace that shadowed him naturally in everything he did, lightly stepping his bare feet in a swift pattern set to the delicate pacing of the music, leading the magister's daughter in soft, measured circles about the dance floor. Her elbow rested on his uncomfortably; he was too lanky for a perfect fit, and she had to stretch her limbs to stay in place with his. Glancing down at their feet, I winced for his sake when her inconsiderate heels stomped on his bare toes.

Fenris could have been dancing by himself and it would have been a much more beautiful sight to behold; the way he glided smoothly, twirling and gliding, entranced me completely.

_I never knew he could dance._ I would have dragged him to a ball, if I had had any indication that he would have such _talent _for the act.

It made sense that a person so efficient in battle would also be a dancer; the controlled movement, the pacing, the smooth form - all elements added together. Just throw in a blade, subtract the music, and you would have the fine warrior I knew him to be.

I flinched every time a heeled foot landed on his, knowing it had to hurt like hell. It was a mercy when the music stopped and Amelia sniffed, backing away from him.

"That's enough practice," she said, her nasally voice grating my ears. "Mother doesn't have to know it was not a full hour."

"Whatever you wish, Mistress," Fenris responded, his hands falling to his sides. I grimaced; he could be punished if the Magister found out about Amelia dismissing him early, but it was not his decision to make.

"Amon," she cried, stalking from the room, her fancy shoes clicking sharply on the marble floors. "Fetch me-" her words were cut off by the hard oak wall as the door shut behind her. The group of elves playing the instruments dispersed, apparently dismissed.

Fenris busied himself with righting the instruments, a care kit on hand to care for any faults in their glossy shine. He put the devices away in their separate cases for use some other time, presumably for the next waltz lessons. I stashed my smile in the hallway and tentatively snuck into the room, hoping to catch him off guard.

For once.

I walked slowly on bare feet, not making a sound, sneaking, pressing the balls of my feet easily against the floor, careful to be-

"Hello, Marian," Fenris said quietly, not turning around. "You will get into trouble if you are found here."

I pouted, disappointed.

"I didn't know you could dance," I said, ignoring his unveiled hint. I was a little put off by how easily he sensed my presence. Was it my smell?

I inhaled, trying to find my own odor in the air.

…it was probably my smell.

"The Mistress had me study the art so I would have the ability to tutor her daughter," Fenris explained. "No teacher will have her."

"No great wonder at that - she abused your feet." I frowned, my eyes dropping to his sore toes. "You are a damn martyr, Fenris."

He turned to flash me a wry smile; and for once, there was no force behind his gaze, even though his words were admonishing. "My name is _Leto_."

I shrugged. His expression told me that he no longer cared what I called him, so I smiled. "Fenris suits you better."

Fenris rolled his eyes at me, reluctantly indulging himself. "You are a strange woman, Marian."

"And I think I may be as terrible as Amelia when it comes to dancing," I said, sitting on the musician's wooden bench. I felt the dark wood beneath my curled fingers, drumming out an absent-minded pattern. "I always preferred fighting."

"I knew you were a fighter," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "I knew it when they first brought you. No person with such a cocky face could be a simple maid." He leaned against the hydraulus, crossing his arms across his chest. "And I do not think anyone is as bad as that girl when it comes to dancing. I have been trying to teach what I know of the art to her for over a year, yet she still mauls me. I cannot under good conscience allow her to dance with an unsuspecting suitor."

I snorted, trying to muffle the unseemly sound with my hand so it would not echo and alert anyone. "I would give the girl a run for her money," I said, smiling broadly at him, reappraising his white clothes, wondering how they would look on the future Fenris against his stark white hair and lyrium lines. "You, though..." I gazed up at him, met his cool emerald eyes, completely unfazed by my flattery. "You are amazing." My eyes lingered on his dark brown hair a moment before they dipped back to his face.

He pushed off the instrument and held a hand out to me. "Show me."

"Show you what?" I asked, cocking my head.

Fenris raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Show me how you dance," he said patiently.

I shook my head vehemently, stuffing my hands underneath my legs. "No way," I refused, pulling at the itchy fabric of my smelly smock. _Why does he get to have nice, pristine clothing, anyway?_ "There is _no way_ you are getting me onto that floor – unless I am made to scrub it." _Stupid dance instructor allowances, probably._I made a face.

If we ended up dancing, I would turn out looking the fool - and it would not be fair for him to have something _else_to hold above my head.

Fenris walked back to me slowly until his legs bumped my knees; I stared up at him, my mouth parting as his eyes smoldered into mine. He bent over slightly, leaning around me. Warm palms touched my bare knees; his breath fanned over my mouth, and our noses nearly touched as he spoke. "Please?"

I whined and pouted, knowing he was going to get his way. "But..." I flailed around, trying to find some excuse. "But there's no music!" _Stupid, persuasive little shit._

"Then you will have to sing, won't you?" Fenris teased, grabbing my arm and pulling me from my seat. "Please?"

_Foot. Mouth.  
><em>  
>"I do not know any songs," I sputtered as he grasped my hand, tugging me towards the middle of the floor. I glanced around nervously, wondering what had gotten into him – was he not usually the careful one?<p>

"You must," he said. "Any song will do, as long as there is music." He smiled down at me; I felt terribly short beside him, having to strain my neck to meet his gaze.

He seemed much more calm, adorable with his behavior.

_Like a boy with a sweet crush._

I pursed my lips. "Fenris..."

"Why do you_ call _me that?" he asked, narrowing his gleaming eyes. I saw a spark of the taciturn, normal broody Fenris and felt momentarily reassured.

_Fenris won't let anything bad happen to us__._

I shook my head and smiled. "If I told you, I would have to kill you," I teased, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Then sing," he pushed, straightening his back. "Sing and I will not pester you again about it."

"A tempting offer." Sighing, I conceded, holding out my other hand. He tried to do the thing he did with Amelia on me; he arched his arm up high, mine resting on top of it, which strained my standing position. I glared at him and pulled my arm back to grasp his hand.

"This is how we did it back home," I said, sliding his hand down to just above my hip, right on the slight curve of my waist. He raised an eyebrow at the forward gesture. I placed my hand back on his shoulder, uncompromising, and we began to sway back and forth.

I was thankful that he did not try to make me follow him in a trained, perfect waltz, thus sparing me further embarrassment.

Easy swaying, I could do.

"Sing," Fenris prodded, his hand warm against my skin.

"It's a childish song," I said, my face feeling hot. I wanted to smooth my fingers against my cheeks to ward away the pink that I knew lingered there.

"Sing it anyway," Fenris said.

I grimaced and opened my mouth as he twirled me slowly; I was grateful that we moved not in the wide, graceful lopes but in short, sweet circles.

Inhaling deeply, I thought back to a song my father had sang to us whenever he was in a happy mood. I had fond memories of it, and hoped this humiliating experience wouldn't ruin those for me.

"_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..._" I cut off, wrinkling my nose in distaste. "It's a stupid song, may I please stop?" I begged, looking up at his level eyes.

"No," Fenris ordered, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards. "Keep going." A shiver travelled down my spine at the soft command from him.

I sighed, dropped my eyes to his chest. I concentrated on moving my feet so they did not stomp on his; Maker knows he did not need any more injuries inflicted upon his poor feet. "_You make me happy when skies are gray,"_ I continued, sulking at his shirt and singing slow, hoping my voice did not crack or warble or do anything too horrible. "_You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,_

"So please don't take my sunshine away."

I licked my lips, and Fenris twirled me again, still moving at a slow pace.

The words, the familiar tune, all reminded me of home, of my Da. I sighed through my nose, missing him.

We kept dancing, and Fenris pulled me closer. I could not help but smile at the sweet contact, at the pressure of his hand on mine and his fingers against my waist. I started the song over, because I didn't know the rest of the words.

I chanced a glance at Fenris and saw him frown. I winced, just _knowing_I sounded terrible. I knew my singing voice to be as nails on chalk board; it had to be torture for his enhanced elven hearing.

"Sorry," I apologized, dropping my gaze to his clean shirt and wondering again if its only use was for the dancing lessons.

_What a waste. He looks handsome in white._

He looks handsome in everything,

the girly voice in the back of my mind purred.

"Don't be," he ordered, voice low. His hard, chiseled jaw brushed across my cheek slightly.

I pressed my grinning lips into his shoulder, as he spun us around effortlessly despite his lanky legs.

Fenris halted our movements slowly, easing us into a motionless figure on the marble. I pressed my foot against his, mimicking stomping on his toes. He rewarded my silliness with a cute smile, raising his feet and jolting me upwards sharply. I clutched his arms in surprise, raising my eyes to watch his reaction.

My breath caught in my throat as I noticed how he towered over me, eyes intense. His hand left mine; it drifted down the curve of my elbow, eased along my waist until he was able to pull me tighter against him.

I would never be able to get a full grasp of what he was thinking; no matter what age he was, the fortress of his eyes would always withhold secrets. I was sure that my secrets all but jumped from my eyes, while Fenris would always be a complex, aching man.

I would always, _always_ be drawn to him. I could see that now; no matter what trials we faced, it was inevitable that we faced them together.

"Fenris?" I whispered, prompting him for further action, curious as to why he was merely staring intently at me. He leaned forward, expression determined-

"What is the meaning of this?" snapped a familiar, throaty voice. We shoved away from each other abruptly, eyes wide, and turned to face Fausta, our heads both appropriately falling to the floor. "Explain yourselves!"

"I was merely showing Marian the duty I perform for your lovely daughter," Fenris said, laying it on thick. "We meant-"

"Do not slander my daughter with your petty flattery!" Fausta scolded scornfully, stalking into the room. "Did you mean to defile the floors? Make little, abominable babies that I would have to auction off, or worse yet, _house_?" She shook her head angrily. "Intolerable!" She glared at us.

My eyes remained resolutely on the floor; I only chanced glances at her in my periphery.

"Forgive us, Mistress," I said, monotone. "I shall return to my duties-"

"Like hell you will," her sharp voice rang. "I will not harbor a slut within my halls."

My head snapped up, my pride flaring at the insult. She met my gaze with a cold glower.

She pointed an accusatory finger at me. "You," she spat. "You are headstrong. You are unruly." She took a shuddering, enraged breath to calm herself marginally. "I curse the moment I bought you, for you have been but a nuisance since I had you dragged from that ragged cart, you wanton _hussy_."

I wrinkled my nose.

Did she have to use the word _hussy_?

I shuddered. Even thinking it upset my stomach.

"You seem to be in need of a proper lesson – a lesson of conduct. You were nothing when I bought you; you remain nothing. You do not deserve the leniency I have allowed you." Fausta inhaled deeply. "You will learn."

Fausta turned her head. "Amon!" she shouted away from us, her voice straining. "Bring the whip."

Fenris inhaled audibly from beside me. I shot him a glance. Being whipped was nothing new; I could not fathom why this would pull a reaction from him.

I was an expert at taking a little pain.

The slave Amon carried in a delicate brass dish with a dome on top; he held it out for the Magister, and she yanked off the top, exposing a disturbing looking leather whip with a glinting tail - chains? - that curved in the dish.

I squinted.

No, they were not chains; they were sharper than that. I swallowed audibly at the sight.

_You have faced worse. Remember that. You have faced worse. You were the one in the Thaig. You were the one in the Deep Roads._

_Do not give this horrid woman the satisfaction._

I braced myself, holding my shoulders straight and level with my hips. Punishment was going to happen, whether or not my pride was intact, and I would rather have my pride.

"Turn around," she commanded, and I obliged. "Leto, remove her shirt."

"Mistress, I-" Fenris began, a bargaining tone of voice. I closed my eyes, willing him not to fight it. There was no reason for us both to be whipped; he could still get out of this unscathed.

_You have already suffered for my transgressions_, _Fenris_.

"_Do not defy me_," Fausta roared, her face darkening with her upset fury. "Remove. Her. Shirt."

I bit the inside of my cheek when I felt his hands press against the hem of my smock. "Sorry," he whispered quietly in my ear. I did not acknowledge him, afraid I would get him in trouble. He led me to a pillar that was on the side of the room; it was thin, small enough for me to fit my arms comfortably around. Feeling eyes on me, I glanced up, towards the door I had snuck in through; five pairs of eyes watched from the shadows, and one pair of orange stood out among the flock.

_Svanna_. I could only imagine the gloating I would receive later.

Fenris pulled my smock over my head, leaving me naked, and placed it in my hand. I grasped it tightly in both of my palms and hugged the post, staring studiously at the floor, memorizing each fleck in the white marble. His fingers trailed across my wrist briefly as he pulled away.

"Twenty lashes," Fausta declared. I heard her shoes click across the marble, but with the echoes in the room I could not tell where she was. I heard someone gasp from the door, and Fenris stuttered a breath behind me.

"Mistress-" Fenris started again. A resounding _smack _echoed across the room.

"Twenty lashes, Leto," Fausta said. "Count, Marian."

"As you wish, Mistress," I said, bracing myself against the pillar. I heard nothing from behind me, no indication of any movement; there was barely any warning, only the whistling of the whip through the air, the clanging of the metal as it shook and rattled, and then sharp agony as it struck my skin. Blood speckled the white pillar as it ripped against me, immediately splitting my skin.

I winced, shuddering against the cold pillar and grasping my smock tightly.

If that was only the first lash...

"One," I whimpered, already regretting my Makerdamn curiosity.

_Why did I have to find the ballroom?_

Another crack, the scraping of skin; more light blood spatter.

"Two."

It continued forever; my consciousness was narrowed down to the searing mass of pain that was my back and the counting, always counting, numbering my death sentence.

It burned and ached and sweltered and sizzled like fire. My only saving grace was the number; the higher it climbed, the closer I grew to finishing my punishment. The pace was sickeningly slow; with each stroke, more blood grazed the pillar, the wall, the floor. My back dripped with it, a horrifying feeling. My limbs grew numb, my knees weak; I sank, still hugging the pillar, still counting, still aching, smearing my blood across cool marble.

My head went light, and I began to tremble. Did I cry out? I could not hear anymore - sound left me, only pain remained. The rhythmic ripping as the whip struck my back was all that kept me from going under; did I speak? Did numbers come out? I prayed to Andraste that they did; I did not wish further punishment for being unable to count.

Did it end?

Did the pain ever stop?

No, it did not; it stung, and flamed, and _burned_. Everything hurt, even though that was absurd; only one part of me should hurt, but every limb, every fiber, every molecule of me shook with the pain.

"Clean the floor," I heard the Mistress say. "If this room has not been cleaned by the time I return, there will be twenty more."

My heart leapt.

No.

No, no, _no_.

Have to clean.

Have to work.

Have to get rid of the blood.

"Bucket...my bucket..." I whispered, feeling weak. So, so _weak_.

"No, Marian," Fenris said, his voice deep, folding around me and echoing against the walls pleasantly. Arms wrapped around my own, stalling my movements. "You don't have to clean it."

"But...Mistress..."

"I know what she said." Fenris's lips were at my ear, for me only. His hot breath caressed my lobe, my neck. "Rest. Someone else will...they'll get it." Something soft pressed against my head, a light pressure. "I'm sorry."

"My fault," I replied, trying to move. Where were my legs?

_Fucking curiosity killed the Hawke._

"I have you," he said. I didn't know what that meant, but I stopped my restless efforts. "Rest, Marian. I have you."

"But..." my mouth was sluggish; my eyes would not open. I found myself unable to respond to him, no matter how badly I wished to. My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault.

_Pana__. Kornyn. Fenris. All my fault_.

"I can't let you..." My eyes could not see, though I knew they were open. In some part of my mind, this worried me.

"_Damn it_, Marian," Fenris snapped. "I will not let you bleed out. Quit struggling against me."

Hardness met my back. Had I been set down? When had I even been lifted?

I couldn't tell; everything became fuzzy, from the sensations of touch to the rumbles of his words.

"_Fenris,_" I said, gasping a breath and feeling oddly claustrophobic in my unmoving body. My limbs were gone, my eyes unable to open. I fought against the boundaries of my skin fruitlessly, succumbing to complete unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>What silly song do you sing when you're happy?<strong>

**Note: I tried to be more original with the song choice, but…*shrug* I decided it was best to go with something recognizable and that everyone pretty much knows the tune to. I hate reading lyrics and not knowing how they should be sang!**


	11. 09 Spark

**To Elisabeth: The "fifty lashes" was a fudge on my part; I meant to bring it down before the update, but I must have screwed a little. C: Reminds me not to update when I'm not on my game.**

**That said, most of us don't have silly songs to sing when we're happy. I would suggest "You and I" by Ingrid Michaelson; I think I'll have it quoted sometime soon, because it brings happiness!**

* * *

><p><em>I have mourned, mourned, mourned<em>_.  
><em>_There is no mercy at your hands  
>and my torment<br>to you means nothing.  
>-Natacha Atlas, Kidda<em>

* * *

><p><strong>09. Spark<strong>

I awoke to the sound of water trickling into a pot. I inhaled sharply, my eyes snapping open. My eyes blurred, but the room was dark; I blinked awake, focusing on the person at my side.

"Svanna?" I asked groggily, still blinking, my lids sticking together. I heard her sigh.

She did not reply, busy wringing out a cloth. I was on a low cot, resting on my stomach. I felt cramped and my back ached and stung. "Are you lightheaded?" Svanna asked brusquely, stretching the cloth in her hand.

My eyes rolled back into my head in relief when she placed the cool cloth over a stripe on my marred back. "Slightly," I whimpered when she dabbed at my raked skin lightly, stinging me. "Where - where is-"

"Leto is bearing his own punishment," Svanna answered pointedly, but without relish. "Pana will be here shortly to take over for me. Do not hesitate to fall back into slumber, human; your body needs to heal, and you have already been unconscious for some time."

"I - I didn't mean..." I swallowed. My tongue was so thick, my voice ragged and coarse; I could hardly understand the words that spewed forth from my mouth. "I didn't mean to-"

"What?" she snapped, abruptly cross. "You did not mean to be caught? To disobey my warning? To be punished for trespassing boundaries?"

I looked to her face to see her arching a thin brow. I had to avert my eyes, ashamed of myself for being so obtuse. Svanna sighed, lowering her head and forcibly softening her expression.

"I warned you of the consequences, Marian," she said, but her voice was not gloating. "I advised you to leave him well alone, did I not?"

"You did," I whispered. "I just..."

"You knew exactly what you were causing," she said sternly, throwing the rag into the dish on the floor beside my cot. She stood on her bare feet, shifting her wool dress to smooth over her legs. "Do not pretend any different. Now the both of you are being punished for your transgressions against the Mistress, and there is not anything to be done to prevent the pain you have inadvertently inflicted upon yourself and Leto."

Fenris suffering through another punishment...I winced, hating myself for being the cause of another of his punishments. "What is she doing to him?" I asked, worried. Would she hurt him as badly as I? Would she incapacitate him?

Would she kill him?

"I assume he is being whipped or caned," Svanna said, voice detached but distress showed in her gaze. I could not be satisfied by her answer. It left much to be imagined; I would not be able to bear it if something terribly unfortunate happened to him.

I pressed my face into the stiff fabric beneath me, pondering the repercussions my actions would have.

_It does take two to tango_, the voice in my head pointed out. _Or waltz._

"Will you expose me?" My voice wavered, though it remained soft. The rough texture of the blanket beneath me chapped my cheek when I spoke.

Svanna had to know what I was referring to.

Silence bore down upon the room; I stopped breathing and tensed as anxiety flashed through me like lightning, freezing my blood.

I heard Svanna exhale. "No," she said slowly, as if deciding on the answer as she said it. "I will not."

My body sank into the cot as I relaxed profusely, my fear dissipating to a miniscule scrap of worry.

Worry that could be easily pushed aside; Fenris was strong, resilient. He would not be tripped by one more.

I should never speak to Fenris again. I should leave him alone, as Svanna had advised; I had brought him so much pain – how could I have ever blamed him for my own troubles?

Svanna had more knowledge than I. I had been beneath Fausta's reign barely a handful of weeks. Who was I to judge what was right and wrong? How could I know what the consequences of certain actions would be?

I had forced him into being with me; I had forced him into conversation. I had manipulated him at every turn, vying for his attention, goading him, egging him on.

Everything unfortunate that had happened thus far had been at the cause of my own doings. I could not help that, but I could help to alter the final outcome.

Footsteps. Svanna was leaving me to my inner turmoil; she shut the door silently behind her as she exited the room.

I should never speak to Fenris again.

My hands fisted the fabric on either side of me. Thinking the sentence wounded me. It was something that was unavoidable; future, past, present - we found a way to be together against all odds.

What did that mean?

Did it mean we were both two stubborn people that had to butt heads, no matter the era?

Or did it have a deeper meaning?

**-S-**

When I next awoke, I could feel that I was not alone.

My eyes peeled open, languidly exposing the man asleep at my bedside. He hunched against the wall, his expression strained, face gaunt.

"Fenris," I whispered, urging him awake. His eyes blazed open in an instant, revealed so quickly I wondered if he were ever really asleep to begin with.

"Marian," he answered, mouth tight. He slid forward, bracing against the floor with his palms. I felt his gentle lips graze my temple as he sighed with relief. "I feared you would never wake."

"That long?" My head felt fuzzy, full of hot air and fur.

"Long enough." His fingers traced mine, flat on the mat. His eyes slid away from mine, reflexively snapping back.

I grimaced, trying to force a smile to my lips and failing. "Some wicked scars, yeah?"

Fenris exhaled in a gust, a frown thickening his brow. "Yeah," he echoed, leaning back against the wall.

"Are you okay?" I peered up at his face, searching for any sign that the Magister had injured him. My back itched; it felt as if it dripped and festered, and I thanked Andraste it did not feel like raw pain any longer.

"I am as well as I ever am," he replied, looking away from me. I examined his sharp profile for any cause of distress, but could not find any. I relaxed heavily, even as I spotted a tightness in his eyes through the light coming in the crack of the door.

"What's wrong?" I asked, doubt creeping into my mind as I gazed at him warily. He turned his head, worrying me further.

"I'm sorry," he said after several moments of pause.

The words sifted through the heavy air, layering between us.

"We should stop this." My lips formed the words, but the sounds were stinted.

"I know," Fenris agreed, still not looking at me. My eyes dropped to his hip, so close to me.

"We are only hurting each other," I said, depression sinking into my bone marrow. "Every time."

"I know," he said again, voice strained.

"We can't really help the outcomes of this, can we?"

"No," he answered. "We can't." He finally turned his head to face me, light shifting across his face. "But can you stop?"

I exhaled, the carnage of my back protesting with the minimal movement. "Why are you here, if you think this is wrong?"

"I-" he began sharply, put off by my redirection. "I feel guilty for what I have done to you."

"It was not your choice," I pointed out, my hand reaching slowly to touch his clothed leg.

"It could have been." He grimaced, watching the progress of my fingers coolly as they stretched towards him. "You have said as much before."

_If you were a mindless slave, you would have no feelings of your own._

My mouth twitched with a pinprick of smug happiness flushed in my chest. "You have been thinking of me," I accused without malice.

His eyes fell bashfully, his pointy ears shifting minutely. "I feel as if that is all I ever do."

"Do you agree, then?" I wondered aloud. "That you ultimately have a choice?"

Fenris's eyes flashed to mine in a heartbeat. "If you believe that, why did you not stop me?" he growled. "Stop the Mistress?"

I pressed my face downwards. "Would it have changed anything?"

He drew back, pausing. "Maybe," he pondered, testing the new scenario. He sighed, leaning heavily against the wall once more, resigned. "No. It would not have."

"Just because I acknowledge my individuality does not mean that I am a fool." I nearly chuckled, but did not wish to set my back aflame. "Despite my last few episodes of idiocy, of course."

"Of course," he murmured, scratching his head lightly as he leaned with his shoulder.

We sat in tense silence, each of us awaiting the other's words. "I do not blame you," I said, needing him to know. "For anything. I know you are not as cruel as your actions imply."

"Thank you," he said dryly, mouth teasing around a loose smile. "Though you have still left my question unanswered."

I tried to recall the question he meant, my head confusing. Then it hit me:

_Can you stop?_

Stop what?

Stop being myself?

Stop caring for him?

Stop _everything_?

"Distancing myself from you…" I bit my lip to stifle a barking, hard laugh. "Hurts like hell just to think about." I made certain that my eyes were strong when they met his. "But it hurts worse when I contemplate what could happen to you – to us - because of our hasty actions."

"You have been thinking of me," he teased me with my own words, making me smile.

"I feel as if that is the only thing I ever do," I returned, my smile fading. "You should not be here."

"No," he agreed. "I should not."

But he did not rise from his spot. The action – or his inaction – caused simultaneous hope and dread to blossom in my chest, lump in my throat.

This – whatever we were, whatever we were doing – I could see it plainly killing him. We would overstep lines, crush toes and be slaughtered for disobeying.

But…

If we did not overstep a line…

If we did not crush any toes…

It was still inevitable that we would die.

If we parted ways, vowed to never speak to each other again, there is still the elusive possibility that something else would kill us.

The Magister could, at any time, grow enraged for no reason at all; who needed a reason to beat slaves? We had no say in any right of fairness; we could starve to death, be tortured to death, or just endure…needless _suffering_.

And for what?

A whim of a woman neither of us gave a shit about?

If we died here, if we were ripped to shreds or left to rot, there would be regret.

Unbearable, pressing, arrogant.

We would forever hate ourselves for giving up the fight.

Fenris would be gone; he would perish beneath a blade, or a staff, or neglect. He would have no choice. Life would be torn away from him too soon; the spark that resided in the nook deep within him would drain from his eyes, removing all of his rage and passion.

Would he be handed over to Danarius?

It was a life I had always known him to have; what right did I have to try and prevent that?

Was I willing to sit and watch as it happened?

The answer already sang in my lethargic blood, feeding breath and hope and fear into my soul. I grew lightheaded at the glorious assurance of the feeling it gave me.

"Fenris," I croaked, feeling my body sag once more as I drained of my excess energy.

_I will save you._

"Marian," he responded, his eyes meeting mine before they slid shut. "Are you tired? Should I leave?" He made move to rise, but my hand reached out and clutched at his leg, sending a swift slice of agony through my shoulders.

I winced, biting my teeth together and clenching every muscle I could to stop the spread of pain. I panted as Fenris relaxed warily, waiting for me to catch my breath. I sent him an appreciative, but tired, glance, relaxing. My hand slid from his calf to the floor easily; my eyes closed again, as I was no longer able to hold them open.  
>"No," I finally responded, my breathing ragged.<p>

He waited patiently, unmoving; I longed to feel the weight of his skin on mine, even a brush of his fingers, but I did not speak up nor move to touch him.

"Promise me." My eyes peeled open as far as they would go; my vision swam, but I trained my eyes on his form. My muscles were weak, my voice a whisper, but I knew he would hear me. I shuddered through a breath, wondering how he would react.

He could not refuse; he had to understand the odds facing us.

And he had not made a move to leave yet.

"Promise me that we will get out of here," I begged, imagining us in a place far away. Lothering, perhaps, or Denerim or Highever. Dancing with Dukes and Duchesses, him clad in white and myself in red; I would dance on his toes and he would growl and sneer at the distasteful people around us, and then we would walk home in the night, our shoes in hand, ready to find a quiet place for love making and happiness.

"You will be on your feet in a matter of days," Fenris said assuredly, though quietly. "The Mistress's favored whip is coated with a fine layer of elfroot to keep the injuries from being deadly; with proper rest and-"

"No," I pressed, unable to feel my limbs any longer. I knew I had to impress my point upon him before I fell back into slumber. "Run away with me, Fenris."

I heard him inhale sharply. Silence stole the small room, the only noise being my rhythmic breathing.

I smelled ammonia and dust; I nearly smiled, knowing that we were in the storage room where I had spent the night with him.

"I cannot say that I have not thought of it." He tested his words carefully.

"We could leave," I murmured gently, my voice weak but my words invigorated. "We could travel to the far reaches of Thedas, where slavery and magisters do not exist. We could be free."

I would risk everything for him; I could see that now. He embodied my heartache, a tormented soul; a wayfarer that shied from contact, a man slow to trust but equipped with a fierce, underlying loyalty that a seldom few were allowed to bear witness to. He was stubborn and vindictive, quick to scorn but honest.

And somewhere, beyond the walls he encased himself within, there was a vulnerability to him, a sweet nature that I had only seen glimpses of before. I knew that if I allowed him to stay here, to be tossed to Danarius, I would never fully lay my eyes upon that side of him.

The Fenris I had first met...the Fenris that shown bright with markings of lyrium...guarded himself tightly. Even if I turned his walls to rubble, he had a thick exoskeleton that hardened him to the more frivolous of emotions and pleasures; that Fenris could never be mine, _would_ never be mine – he would never be _anyone_'s.

Selfish as it may be, I wanted the clearheaded, unspoiled Fenris for myself. I wanted to cultivate his personality, I wanted to watch him grow into a man he would have been, had Danarius not turned him against the world.

"I would not suggest it if I believed that you were not worth the effort or incapable of maintaining freedom. You are worth more than the cards you have been dealt."

My words died as my muscles slacked completely; I felt myself giving into nothingness, resting my mind after the heavy conversation. Fingers drifted into my hair, trailing over my neck and I felt air shift across my skin.

The door creaked open.

"I will return," was his parting promise.

**-S-**

"Mary," urged a young voice beside me. My eyes cracked open, feeling rusty; I nearly stretched before I caught myself, sparing my back the jolt of pain. "Are you thirsty?

I licked my lips absently, feeling my mouth crack with dryness. "I am." My voice scratched with roughness, and I watched Pana grimace at the grating sound.

"Do you think that you may be able to sit up?" Pana asked tentatively, holding a cup of water out to me in offering. Trepidation flooded my chest, but I knew that I would thirst to death eventually.

I could not stay on the mat forever, and I did not want to cause Pana unnecessary worry.

I attempted to roll over onto my side, but did not succeed in getting very far over. I only managed to send a trail of fire through my tender muscles, the flames searing across my flesh with a sharp blistering pain. I cried out weakly, collapsing back onto my front, resigned and damn right ready to thirst to death. "Sorry," I whispered to her through the corner of my mouth. "I can't."

She stroked my hair with her fingers lightly, soothingly. "It's okay," Pana assured me softly. "I can help you." I could tell by the sad look in her eyes that she knew that I was in a tremendous amount of pain; I hoped that she did not witness the brutal beating that I had suffered beneath Fenris's reluctant hand.

The brink of a wooden, chipped cup was positioned awkwardly at my lips by Pana. I opened my mouth for her and she tipped the shallow cup until the liquid spilled into my waiting mouth; most of the lukewarm water spilled over the rim of my mouth and onto the mat, but I managed to swallow at least some of it before the cup drained completely. Pana set the cup aside and sat on the edge of my cot, her small hands running across my shoulders, avoiding the wounds.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, my thirst not sated but placated. Still, a bit of discomfort in my throat lifted.

_Such a sweet girl._

I felt a tingling on the planes of my back and tasted the sharp tang of magic as it filled the air confined in the room; I hissed.

"Sorry," she gasped quickly, and the prickling sensation disappeared. "I just - I know I can -"

"Then do it," I gritted through my teeth, remembering how Pana healed my minor cut the morning she let me in on her secret. "Get it done with."

"Yes, ma'am," she whispered, eyes wide. I inhaled, holding my breath in preparation.

The touch of magic gentled immensely the second time around; a bare brush of magic across my wounded back, and I felt the sores sew together, felt the wounds that still trickled blood being laced by her healing magic. It was painful, but endurable.

Nothing that could not be handled by a few twitches and curses; I had been through worse and had been healed by Anders. Granted, the small elf was no seasoned healer like the soft-hearted apostate, but she could do well enough to ease the pain and prevent major scarring and infection. I even tried to feed her what little mana I could spare to aid her process; I had been careful with my usage of magic, ever since Pana had caught me drying the floors.

Apparently not careful enough.

"You are rather talented," I complemented when her work was done. She folded her hands on her lap and waited for the lingering scents and pulls of the magic to disperse in the air. "Quite the proficient healer, I would say."

She blushed beneath my praise, her tanned face pinking prettily. "Thank you," she said bashfully, pushing a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "I tried my best."

I hummed, smiling into my pallet and shutting my eyes again. I sighed. "I'm so tired."

"Then rest, Mary," Pana suggested, touching my cheek with the tips of her fingers. "I promise not to let anything happen to you."

"What happened to Fenris while I was asleep?" I asked, my eyes still closed. "Did Fausta whip him?"

Silence. I cracked an eye open. "Pan?"

"He was taken away," she said, face pale. "I...he...she..."

"Spit it out," I encouraged tiredly. I hated all of the half-answers people had been giving me in regards to what he had suffered because of our tryst.

"We all heard his cries," Pana whispered, shuddering and hugging herself with skinny arms. My brows furrowed. His cries? What would bring forth such a response from _Fenris_, of all people? "It was..." She swallowed, frowning. "Harrowing."

I chewed on the insides of my cheeks, mulling over her words. "Thank you, Pana, for answering me." I closed my eyes again, growing increasingly more grateful that some of the pain had drained from my injuries. "You are a very good friend to me."

I could hear the proud smile in her voice. "Am I really?"

"You are," I said with my own smile. "I'm very lucky to have met you."

"I've never had a friend," Pana mused wistfully. "I'm glad that I can be a good one."

"I don't think you could ever be bad at anything, girly," I said tiredly, only half-coherent. "You have talent. You're sweet, kind, clever..."

Pana giggled at me; I was unsure of what exactly made her laugh, but I knew it was at least partially at my expense. "Go to sleep, Marian. I'll watch over you; I promise."

**-S-**

"Mages," Fenris's cold, acerbic voice spat by my head.

"Fenris?" I groaned, trying to roll over, the movement hindered by a lancing pain shooting up my spine. It was bearable; not incapacitating by any means. "When...when did you get here?"

"I've been here for quite some time," Fenris answered me, reaching over to graze the back of my hand with his fingertips. "How do you feel?"

"Peachy keen," I replied with a tight smile, my eyes still closed. "What about mages?" I asked sleepily.

"They have ruined our lives," he growled. I rolled my eyes, a rueful smile flashing through my cheeks.

"I have heard this before," I chuckled, remembering him picking on Merrill and Anders – but never myself..

"What?" he asked, sounding very confused. Then I realized what I had said, and where I was.

"Nothing," I told him, shaking my head and hoping he would forget it. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to be around you," Fenris answered plainly. "To see how you were recovering. It is surprising how fast you have healed in such a short amount of time."

"I suspect I have been well taken care of." By a mage, no less. I enjoyed that inside joke while it lasted.

"You have been given every courtesy we could provide," he assured me, having no idea how well I was taken care of.

I wondered where Pana had disappeared to.

I assumed that Fenris scared her off with terse looks and his signature sullen demeanor.

I took inventory, stretching my shoulders, feeling through my stiff muscles. The pain was growing less pronounced; a few days of rest and recovery had been exactly what I needed.

"Marian," his voice caressed my name hesitantly, unsure. I finally opened my eyes to peek at him, watching him stare at the door.

"Fenris?" I prompted after he did not say anything. He exhaled hard, tightening his fist.

"I'll try," Fenris said steadily. I stared at him a moment, confused.

_Try?_

_He will try?_

My eyes widened as realization flashed through my thoughts.

_He is going to try to escape with me! _The most glorious smile I had ever experienced lifted my face, carrying me across the threshold of happiness.

"I can promise nothing else," he warned, but when he saw my beaming face the sternness in his voice faded in favor of a small smile of his own. "But to try."

"That is all I could ask for," I said, flipping my hand over and grasping his fingers tightly.

* * *

><p><strong>Do you believe in love at first sight?<strong>


	12. 10 Promises

**Most of us believe that immediate infatuation is often misconstrued as love at first sight, but there are a few of us who are true romantics at heart.**

* * *

><p><em>So I will help you read those books<em>_,__  
>if you will soothe my worried looks<em>_,__  
>and we will put the lonesome on the shelf<em>_.  
><em>_-You and I, Ingrid Michaelson_

* * *

><p><strong>10. Promises<strong>

After a few days of resting, they allowed me to rise and resume some of my duties with the promise of being wary of my injuries in the coming weeks. Fenris was particularly watchful over me, but the normality of his observation kept me from commenting on it.

Besides, I liked having him nearby. He would switch stations and routes with guards to be near where I would be working; my routine rarely changed, and the other slaves refused to come into close contact with me for fear of being punished – they considered me to be extremely bad luck, and so did not call upon me for any favors.

They all knew about what had transpired between Fenris and I; we saw no point in hiding what he had in each other. When the Magister had slipped to bed or out of the estate, we would suffer thinly veiled looks of disdain when we would trade light touches or sweet kisses when we met in the hallways. They cursed us for mocking them, for threatening their simple lives, but I did not care.

I could not help myself.

His eyes were perpetually circled and dark; not only had he suffered through whatever punishment the Magister had prescribed (he would not tell me), he had been given extra duties. He would be forced awake for many nights and days, and then suffer through brutal training with the other guards who were well-rested and well-fed.

I held a deep pity in my heart whenever I saw him, utterly spent and wasted. When the Magister allowed him rest, I wasted no time in pulling him close and ushering him to the storage closet or even the slave quarters, pulling him down to me and resting his head on my lap. Fenris offered me tight smiles and quiet touches as I smoothed his hair and hummed him songs; he never lasted very long, succumbing to sleep and lingering there until morning. I never failed to watch over him, glaring at the slaves who dared turn their noses up at us.

And then there were the slaves like Pana, the tender-hearted ones whose eyes held only sympathy and sorrow for our predicament. They would leave us well-enough alone; we preferred the mock solitude of our storage closet, the quiet dampness familiar and comforting.

We began there. We met there. We had already shared so much in the cramped, dusty space; to us, it was common ground. In there, he would not have to punish me; we would not be judged for trying to be together. The cleaning supplies could not call us fools and we would not have to hide from them.

We protected what we had; although it was new and fragile, standing on shaking ground, neither of us would be willing to give it up without a bloody fight. Too much had been sacrificed already; what more did we have besides each other?

Inside the clammy sanctuary, we were not slaves. We were a man and woman; the confusion of the outside world would not penetrate the four wooden walls of our refuge.

I traced his transparent bumps and scars with my fingertips; I stroked his skin and hair, helping him to relax, if only for a short while.

We could never manage more than an hour or two together, if that, before something brought us back into reality. We would hear the heavy footsteps of a hired guard stamping through the hallway, or the forceful slamming of a door in the floor above, or the aggravating, whiny voice of the Magister's daughter, Amelia. Fenris would jerk awake, or, if we had merely sought a few seconds of time together, we would jump apart.

I would trail my lips down his neck one last time, nuzzling his skin as he grasped me tightly for one last moment of stolen intimacy. His fingers would caress the small of my back; I would stand on the top of my toes to give him a peck on the lips, a tiny reminder, and we would part ways. Our hands would hold onto each other until we were outside the room and going our separate ways, prolonging our contact.

We hardly spoke when we were together; there was not much to say. We never mentioned his promise to try. Usually, Fenris was overcome with exhaustion when we met, and I saw him increasingly less over the daylight hours. A constant worry of mine was that Fausta had somehow found out about our greedy encounters and punished him further; I burned with questions about where he was and what he had been doing, but the words melted away when my eyes finally slid onto his chiseled, solemn face.

Always in one piece. Always as safe as he could possibly be.

In the meanwhile, I picked up my old duties, sorely tempted to heal my own back the rest of the way to stop the niggling pains that formed whenever I tried something too taxing. I took care to bottle my magic, lest someone else – someone _sensitive _– call me out on what I was.

I could not afford being caught by anyone indiscreet. I still had no idea what sort of reaction Fenris would have, or what could possibly happen to once Fausta discovered me.

I doubted Fausta could be any worse than her daughter, however, in any respect.

Amelia had been a mild nuisance ever since her arrival; the other slaves were used to her goads, foolish orders, and unflattering names, but she continued to piss me off.

And she _knew _it.

She could tell how close I was to snapping at her, how my fists twitched and my face flamed angrily whenever she taunted me. Offended by my apparent interest in her dance instructor, she would not allow sleeping dogs to lie; her mother's treatment of me was not sufficient in her eyes. She made a point to offend me directly, calling me for the most menial of tasks.

But even on the worst days, I attempted positivity. I saw no reason to make a bad situation worse with a pessimistic view, and forced myself to impression this into Pana each morning when she awoke with a grumpy demeanor and a thick stitch in her brow.

I gave her a halfhearted smile and a light kiss on her round cheek, helping her stand. I had not had time alone with Fenris in days; seeing him was a rarity, touching him even more so.

"See you for lunch," I promised after combing her hair with my fingers and tying it back with a short string. She nodded tersely, her green eyes clouded and mouth puckered as she quietly exited the room.

I sighed and groaned, stretching and popping my neck. I would have a few hours of peace before the young woman awoke; I needed to be sure that the majority of my duties were duly completed. There were no moments for my own musings in the waking hours of the morning; I went immediately to the wash house to retrieve a load of clothes for pressing.

A male elf handed me a bundle; I nodded perfunctorily at him as I carried the heavy sack inside.

The pressing took half the morning away from me. By the time most of the loads were completed, it was time to begin the breakfast preparations.

I took a cursory glance around the house, picking up any clutter I passed by. The windows needed washing today, and the rugs needed to be beaten; there was enough of both in the mansion to ensure that most of us would be sufficiently busy.

I dreaded the moment that the girl would rise; she was a cruelty of the Black City's own design, set to ruin me. When I had taken up my chores in the house after my beating, she bought a device that had been constructed with my own torment in mind; it sat by her hand in any situation, prepared at all times to haunt my waking hours.

The device's use meant only one thing:

_I want the human._

The shrill ringing began when Amelia rose in the morning, and did not end until she had tired of her own game. Throughout the day, I would inevitably be summoned, with much irritation, by the sharp, metallic tinkling of the tin bell, and be set to perform any number of tasks at the flimsy whim of the girl.

I would not give her the satisfaction of being noncompliant with her wishes; whatever it was she berated me for or sent me to do, I would do it with the utmost sensibility and respect.

Dry hair tumbled over my cheeks, sticking to the light sheen of sweat that covered my skin. I grunted, pushing the tendrils forcefully from my face; the unruly locks needed trimming, but I lacked the time it took to cut it. I usually had no patience for growing out the disorderly mane; it seemed that I had even less patience for it when it was actually a decent length.

The task I had been in the progress of performing was crudely interrupted by a sharp ringing. I cringed away, feeling a headache already growing in my temples from the screeching sound.

_You will not lose your temper._

The bell rang with more force the longer I took to make my way to where she called; I headed off in her direction, not daring to take my sweet time.

"Slattern," Amelia sang loudly from another room, shaking her little bell, grinding on my nerves.

My head lowered as I walked by a few other slaves to reach the library, embarrassed at being summoned by such a distasteful woman. They avoided me, casting their eyes away as I passed. My pride wounded, my head dropped even further in faux respect as I tread into the library to greet the despised woman.

"Yes, Mistress?" My feet padded quietly on the dark rug as I stepped easily to her side. My gait, while not nearly as silent as some of the elves', was softer from my measured steps.

"Have you seen my blue handkerchief?" she asked imperiously, looking down her nose at me from her expensive, attractively designed chair. I wondered if it was comfortable as well as stylish, but did not have enough interest to find out.

"No, Mistress," I answered her, deliberately unlocking my stubborn jaw. "I have not."

"Liar," her snobby voice spat.

I did not know what to say; I could not retort to her accusation without facing consequences.

But I also could not let her accuse me of a crime that I did not commit.

"Do you wish for me to search for it?" I asked, uncertain and mildly irritated, my mind on the chores that remained ahead of me. I shifted on my feet, my eyes studying the texture of the rug that sat below her chair, mentally noting that sorely desired cleaning.

"No," Amelia said slowly, as if she were speaking to an imbecile. I felt my face heat at the insinuation, my hands clenching and unclenching behind my back. "Because you stole it, whore."

"I have no need for a handkerchief, Mistress," I stated quietly, resisting the urge to jerk forward and slap the imbecilic woman. Amelia scoffed.

"Then why did you take it?" she goaded. I sighed.

This was going nowhere.

"Never mind," Amelia said, stretching. Her legs were propped onto one arm of the chair, and I heard the wood creak beneath the awkward weight of them. "Vallow!" she called.

A few seconds later, I heard footsteps. An elf walked beside me, immediately mimicking my stance - feet apart, arms behind, eyes on the ground. "Yes, Mistress?"

I recognized her - the charcoal-haired girl I had tripped over a few days ago. I sighed.

Of course.

"Send for Leto," Amelia ordered. "I wish to see this slave punished."

I tensed, my blood running cold in my veins at the thought of Fenris having to punish me again for something so fucking _trivial_ and _fake_.

Vallow hesitated beside me, her feet twitching. "Forgive me, Mistress. Leto is away for the rest of the evening."

My eyes widened and my eyebrows rose.

"He's gone?" I barely whispered out the corner of my mouth. He had not told me he would be absent from the manor; but then again, we never spoke.

I regretted not taking time to talk to him.

"Shut up," Amelia snapped at me. "What do you mean, Leto is gone?" she asked Vallow pretentiously, crossing her arms.

"He is away on duty." The elf swallowed, throwing a wary glance at me. A glance that clearly said _no more outbursts_.

My eyes slid back to the floor.

Amelia groaned. "That's no fun," she said, frowning and putting her feet flat on the floor. I tried not to smile as she was denied. "This slave still needs to be punished for stealing my possession." She leaned forward, setting her feet onto the ground. "Send for-"

Svanna entered the library, her feet nearly silent. "Mistress Amelia," Svanna said respectfully, bowing to her. I winced.

Maybe I should have bowed.

"Forgive me for the interruption, but you have a visitor." At Amelia's raised brow, Svanna elaborated. "A Master Tobias."

Amelia leapt from her seat immediately, a hand flying to her mouth. "_Maker_!" she groaned, her other hand touching her hair. "I am unfit to see a suitor!"

I bit my lip to keep from grinning maliciously at her ridiculous display.

"Slave," Amelia snapped at Vallow. "Accompany me upstairs." Vallow nodded gracefully and stood still as Amelia ambled from the room in her long, thick dress.

"Her handkerchief is in her drawer upstairs," Vallow whispered discreetly as she passed me by. "I'll bring it to her attention."

I touched her wrist lightly, my eyes meeting hers in thanks as she began up the stairs behind Amelia. I could not be helped if Amelia was determined to see me punished, but I appreciated the gesture of kindness.

Maybe she wasn't still pissed at me for tripping over her.

I left the library after a few minutes, walking back down the slave hallway. I passed the rarely-used storage closet and paused, feeling a sharp pain at the thought of Fenris.

Why had he not told me he was leaving?

Why did I _always_ have to get news second-hand?

Why didn't we ever _talk_when we saw each other?

I tripped over a thick rug in the middle of the hallway, barely catching myself before I was sprawled on the floor. I turned to glare at the offensive mop, pushing at it with my toe angrily.

What a bum moment to take a tumble.

All of the rugs were laced with sand. This one was a bright yellow and a burnt orange, with twisting, vaguely square shapes woven into the material. The colors were dull beneath a fine layer of dust and dry grass.

It needed to be beaten.

And that wasn't just me seeking revenge on the thing.

I glanced up, sensing a presence nearby. Vallow. She caught my gaze with clear eyes, communicating that I was no longer blamed for the missing handkerchief; still, I'd best be wary to avoid Amelia's path. I nodded to Vallow in thanks, my throat itching with the effort of holding back my question.

_Where is Fenris?_

It would be wrong for me to jeopardize her well-being with my ill-timed words. I sighed and frowned down at the rug.

Vallow approached silently, nodding at the floor. She walked around to face me, bending over to grasp the edges of the rug.

Realizing her intent, I mimicked the position opposite her. Together we lifted the heavy rug and silently carried it out of the hallway to the doorway outside. She left me and the rug on the veranda, returning with an airy, light staff. I held the rug taut against the railing as she began to beat it, exhaling in sharp bursts whenever the staff made contact with the material.

I wondered, if Fenris and I were to escape, if that staff could possibly be an asset. Could it be wielded as a weapon? I doubted it.

Fenris may not even allow me to hold it, once he knows what I am.

I sighed again, pondering the unlikely odds of Fenris's acceptance.

"I heard he is to return on the morrow," Vallow's hushed voice hissed as she swung at the rug. I eyed her curiously.

"Heard anything else?" I whispered anxiously. Of course, no one else could possibly know that we intended to escape, but that would not stop me from worrying about being caught prematurely.

"Only that," she said, smoothly smacking the rug. She straightened and lowered the staff, and I realized we were done.

Had she brought me out here just to say that? Could she tell how much I worried? Was I so transparent? Unsettled, I could no longer relax, conscious of each expression that crossed my face. Did I think about him too much? Did I pass the door so often only in the vain hope of witnessing his safe return?

_He promised. _

_He promised that we would try._He would return tomorrow, and we would plan. I would make him talk to me, give me more time than how long it took to hastily press our lips together and duck out of the storage room.

_Where could he be?_ A sick part of me wondered if Danarius had come for him - was this it? Would the magister suddenly show up and demand he be taken away?

_Stop being ridiculous._I took a deep, calming breath.

Fenris would be fine.

He always was.

He would come home tomorrow, and we would talk.

**-P-**

When I retired that night, Pana had already crawled into our bed and had curled herself into a ball. When I settled in beside her, I noticed hushed whispers carrying in the stagnant air; murmurings from the other elves.

"_...__upset..."_

_"...the stress...difficult chores. It requires us to be even more careful..."_

_"...bankrupt, even – what will that mean?"_

_"...death or starvation."_

I tossed my head, uneasy with the voices drifting around me, unable to find my own rest for the enigma of these late night mutterings. "Pana," I whispered, testing to see if she were awake.

"Marian," she answered, just as quiet.

"What is everyone hissing about?" I was frustrated by only receiving glimpses of the conversations; I hoped her young, elvan ears would be able to detect what mine could not.

Pana yawned, stretching slightly. "The Mistress is losing her money," she said, translating the imperceptible hisses. "She is stressed, which makes her jumpy and mad. She has been ordering more and more punishments." She pressed her face into my arm. "More than usual, at least."

_Losing her money_.

"Do you know why?" I asked her, wondering if I may be able to use this knowledge to my advantage.

"War," she said plaintively. "Politics. I also suspect that the other magisters have lost respect for her; at the party she threw a while back, there were...murmurs about her."

I absorbed this information slowly, turning it over in my head.

"Thank you," I said, feeling even less likely to sleep easy for this clarity. Pana muttered something and rolled over, stretching her legs out. "Good night."

I stared at nothing in the darkness until I finally fell asleep, my brain processing whatever insight it had gleaned from Pana's words.

**-P-**

I jerked awake, nearly forcing my head into the thick wood above me. A rough hand tugged at my wrist, squeezing and nudging me from underneath the cubby.

More than a little frightened, I wiggled halfway out, leaving Pana behind. Hair that was not my own tickled my cheek and I sighed when I found his eyes.

"Fenris," I whispered quietly. He placed a finger to his lips and pulled me the rest of the way free. I followed him dutifully out into the hall and to our storage room; we said nothing until the door closed behind us.

Fenris sighed gratefully, relieving his legs and sliding to the floor. "Marian," he said, smiling lopsidedly – tiredly. I returned his sleepy smile and sat beside him.

"I missed you," I confided, grasping his hand again. I heard him swallow; the darkness of the room rounded all of the corners and edges, softening whatever my sight touched, giving the illusion of a cozy atmosphere.

"And I, you," he responded. I raised my hand carefully to his face, mindful of the impaired vision the darkness granted me. I slid my fingers across his jaw and chin, memorizing the texture of his skin. "Your hands are soft," he said quietly, his own hand reaching up to delicately encircle my wrist. He turned his body to face mine. "Marian," Fenris said urgently, pulling my fingers from his face. "I – I've found a way."

Confused, I only stared at him blankly. "A way?" I repeated his words, feeling tired. "Fenris, where have you been?"

_Why didn't you tell me that you would be gone?_

"It is a long story," he admitted, rubbing his jaw. "But I have managed to find a way...to escape," he said finally, his face breaking into an exhilarated grin. "When everything is in place, it will be as easy as walking out the front door."

I gaped at him, dazed; I had never imagined that _Fenris _would be the one to concoct an escape plan. Excitement mingled with terror in my blood, and I leapt against him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"That's wonderful," I encouraged, kissing his cheek.

"And my family, too," Fenris continued, a bit quieter.

My eyes widened and I pulled back to see his face. "Them, too?"

"Mother and Varania," he said, his smile growing wistful in nature. "They will be freed, too."

"_Freed_," I said, awestruck. "Fenris," I said, grinning at him in the dark. His eyes met mine, bemused but sharing in my happiness. "I am so _proud _of you!" I nearly squealed, eagerly pressing my lips against his. He chortled, kissing me back.

In one day, he had managed to accomplish more than I had been able to in a few _months_.

"How? And where are we going to go?" I asked when we pulled apart. "What are we going to do?"

"I- I don't know." He grabbed my hand tightly in his own. "South?" he said, unsure, looking to me.

"Yes," I said, nodding; I conjured up as much as I knew about geography. "South would take us to Nevarra," I thought aloud, biting my lip. "Though it seems so far away from here, as far north as we are."

"You can make it," Fenris said, a note of certainty in his deep voice. "It will be hard – and everyone will be able to spot escaped slaves, proper documentation or not – but it can be done."

"We are strong," I agreed in a murmur. "We could board a ship in Cumberland," I continued thoughtfully, hugging his arm. "We could go to Ferelden."

I saw Fenris wrinkle his nose in distaste and chuckled. "It isn't so bad, you know," I said, longing for home. "Once you get used to the smell of dirt and dogs."

"Why not the Free Marches?" he suggested. "You have made a home there before."

_A home. With Fenris. Away from the Blight._

I sighed, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall, contemplating the hard road ahead of us. "It was difficult."

I turned my head, pressing my cheekbone to the wood. I peered at him. "I worried about you today," I said, my voice berating.

He waved off my concern. "It was nothing; a mere errand to be run with Mis- with the Magister." But his face softened. "Though now I am glad that I went – otherwise, opportunity would have passed me by."

The feeling of giddiness climaxed again in my chest, and I pushed forward to him again, my lips finding his throat in earnest. "Thank you." I nibbled on his skin happily, trailing my kisses up his jaw. "Hope...is so very _wonderful_."

"Indeed, it is," Fenris responded, tugging me closer, onto his lap. He ducked his head to meet my lips with his, pressing softly. I nibbled his lip, smiling at his silent ardor. He grunted when I sucked on his flesh, pulling his lip into my mouth and he pushed his hips into mine; the feeling of him beneath me, warm and writhing and _alive_was a much needed salve to my wounded soul.

Our tense, fast breathing filled the room as we continued celebrating with kisses and touches; I rolled my hips over him languidly, the edges of my smock riding up my thigh with each tiny movement.

I didn't reach my hands over the muscular span of his back; I feared what fresh marks I would find there since the last time we had come together like this, I feared the blatant proof of our foolishness and the effect it would have on me.

No, it was better to remain a little ignorant.

Though, I hoped that his status as a guard afforded him quality healing after his punishments; I felt fortunate in regards to my private healer.

After a few minutes of petting and licking, we slowed our movements, decreasing to mellow kisses and light strokes of fingers on skin. I sighed into his mouth as his palms slid down the outside of my bare thighs, resting on my knees, firm but relaxing.

Fenris, responsible as he was, knew that we must rise early in the morning for our respective duties.

He lifted my knee, breaking my kiss as he twisted me off of his lap in one fluid movement. I whined in retaliation, and he hushed me, laying us both down on the dusty floor.

"Sleep with me?" Fenris asked, lips brushing my shoulder. I snuggled down against his side, pushing my face into his collar easily; we fit perfectly together, our corresponding shapes complementing each other completely.

"I thought you would never ask." He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him, swallowing me with his body heat. I no longer worried about the possibility of Danarius, or Amelia, or Fausta, or even my own magic tearing us asunder; I felt assured that Fenris valued what we shared together, enough to shake the foundations that his entire life had been based upon.

I fell asleep listening to the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, putting a name to my new favorite lullaby.

* * *

><p><strong>What annoys you the most?<br>**

**I've almost passed **_**Enchanting Ghost**_** in amount of words! Roughly 15,000 more to go – should be about three more chapters, and I still have a ton more to go. Still behind about 150 reviews, though I'm catching up quick on alerts! Thank you guys for making me feel special on days that I really need it. c;**


	13. 11 Gentleman Caller

**We are now halfway through Act 1 and people seem to be very anxious about the next few chapters. ;P I can't imagine why...though this is hopefully the last "filler" chapter for a while. ****Time to visit the friendly neighborhood Cinderella and see what these crazy kids are up to this week.**

**And BTW, we are irritated by crying kids, impatient drivers, and my suspicious plotline. **

**A compliment?**

**I might take it as one. x3**

* * *

><p><em>First everything is quiet<br>A breath of air from lips and tongue  
>Then the sound makes the world wild<br>One, two, three more  
>We can do more<br>Much more, let's do more  
>Much more, let's say more<br>We are more__.  
><em>_-_Ane Brun_,__"One"_

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><p><strong>11. Gentleman Caller<strong>**  
><strong>

"Is your sister a lot like you?"

It felt pleasant, being all cozy with Fenris in the morning – it was tender, firm, and _ohsowarm_. I wanted to burrow into his chest and hide forever, curled up like a kitten.

But since that sounded a little creepy, I would stick to clinging to the _outside_ of him.

"I don't think she is," he said through a teeth-clenching stretch, ending with an arm wrapped around my shoulders. "She is a much better person than I," Fenris assured me.

"Do you think she'll like me?" I propped my chin on his chest, observing the shifts in his face. The dark skin around his eyes tightened when he pondered something intently, and the slight indentation in his chin became more pronounced when he opened his mouth to speak; when he was angry, it was as if everything in his face grew darker - the eyes, the skin, the brows. I noticed the few times he smiled that his features seemed softer, lighter, rounder.

"Perhaps," he finally said, his eyes swiveling down to meet mine. His face relaxed with a loose smile, prompting one of my own.

_You are too handsome._

"Do you think I'll like them?" I questioned him, watching him peer at me from above.

"Do _you_ think you'll like them?"

I paused, pressing my cheek to his chest. His heart steadily _thumped_ in my ear, a reassuring, lovely tune that I could stand to live my life to the beat of.

_If I must dance, I will at least pick my own drummer._

"They are a part of your life," I said as answer, pushing even closer to him. "I doubt that I could do anything but care for them."

The look on his face _then_ – it blew me away. Intense, bright; it warmed me all the way down to my feet, and I had to lean up to capture his lips with mine. Fenris smiled before I pulled away, tugging his lip with my own before pressing my face into his collar.

He sighed; when I looked up, his lips glinted from my kiss. "You have quite a way with words, Marian."

I smiled, chuckling once. "Quite."

A man's laugh fell flatly through the wood over our heads; we both glanced up until the lurching sound faded.

"So many suitors," I mumbled, leaning onto him and looking up at the ceiling. I threw my leg over his thighs, begging for discretion with the movement.

I rather liked the feeling of him below me.

It seemed to me that he rather liked the feeling, too.

"_So...you've never..." I led the question on, letting the sound of my voice waver and fall._

_Fenris shrugged, his white hair shrouding his gaze. "I have spent all of my time running – there has been no time, and no one to trust."_

_"Not even before?"_

_"If there ever was anyone, the memory has been lost to me. The lingering torment of my markings has kept me from being near someone for so long...with you, however," the scorching heat of his gaze burned through me, "it may be different."_

_"We could find out," I offered with a coy smile, leaning back in my seat. My knees crossed, and I cocked my hips _just so_-_

_"Perhaps some other time." His face was apologetic – but only mildly so. He leaned past me, briefly glancing across my shoulder with his arm to grasp the neck of a bottle._

_"A toast."_

I blinked, returning to myself. "What?" I asked, feeling more than a little daft from my brief lapse in reality.

"Have you had many suitors?" he asked, sounding worried – or jealous.

Possibly because of my indirect hesitation.

"Droves." I enunciated the word carefully and slowly, just to watch his eyes widen before he could restrain his reaction.

I laughed at the startled expression on his face. "I'm kidding, Fenris," I said, cuddling against his sinewy limbs again, tugging his arm further around me.

_It feels good to touch him so freely__._

"I've had a few, I suppose," I answered honestly this time, making a face as I remembered – a Templar boy (Pop was _so_ angry), a city rat in Denerim (Mother was _so_angry), and a few others. There were always men that caught my eye, but there were so few that held it for very long.

And then there was one from whom my eye wouldn't shift.

"None remarkable enough to share?" he fished blatantly, stretching his legs and feet, listening to the joints crack and pop. I knew that we had to rise soon; Svanna would expect me in the kitchen for breakfast preparations, but I was so comfortable, I couldn't fathom leaving his side.

_I am becoming quite spoiled to his presence._

_Maker's breath, I can't wait to get out of this place and be alone with him._

_Well, as alone we can be with his mother and sister around._

I watched his long, slender feet as I formulated my words, picturing the olive skin traced and dotted by white lines.

"One, perhaps," I teased as we sat up. I curled my knees into my chest as Fenris adjusted beside me, leaning in to see my face.

"Who?" he demanded, crossing his legs and craning his neck to look me in the eye.

"Someone," I said vaguely, smirking and turning away. "In Kirkwall. An elf." I smiled benignly, wondering at Fenris's possessive streak. "He was very brooding and taciturn. Never once brought me flowers."

_Marian. You aren't the "flowers" type,_ I scolded myself.

_Every woman likes flowers_, my inside voice argued. _Even mannish ones like Aveline. She enjoys marigolds._

"He was very handsome – such a broad jaw and muscular frame, with that condemning gaze and stern lips – yes, he was a fine specimen." I chuckled to myself, imagining Fenris before me, despite having the real man beside me. _How bizarre this situation is._

"He could be a bit of an ass, though."

"Where is he now?" Fenris asked, concealing a hard edge in his voice.

"Jealous?"

"No," he clipped, scooting away and allowing the cold to seep into my side. I pouted.

_He probably just wants to know what who his first kill will be as a free man._

I hid a smile, but my mirth died when I thought of his question. _Where is Fenris now?_

It muddled me, a bit, thinking of Fenris as two separate people...yet as the same person.

_He had been in the Emporium with me._

_Did my body disappear on the spot?_

_Am I in a magical coma and all of this is taking place inside my mind?_

Or more pressing: _would he be concerned?_

Shame watered down my thoughts. Fenris was a good man, a good friend; no matter what petty trifles we endured, that wouldn't change. Of course he would be concerned.

They all would be. Pride lit my chest as I thought of all of my friends - clever, irritating, and worried for me.

_Let it never be said that Marian Hawke didn't surround herself with reputable characters._

_There was one night, however..._

"He left me," I said, settling my head on my knees. "I imagined romance where there was none, apparently." I sighed, imagining _this_ Fenris – this Leto – doing the exact same thing once he was a free man and had options. _Stupid elf, making me insecure. _"No flowers, or candy, or even a card."

"A tragedy," he murmured, rolling to his knees. He grimaced at my questioning look, inclining his head vertically in answer.

_Duty calls_.

Of course. I stood after him, giving him one final kiss of parting. "I can't wait to meet your sister," I said, smiling at him.

_Soon, I will._

**-GC-**

After most of my regular chores had been completed (dumping chamber pots, cleaning up after breakfast, sweeping a few floors, wandering aimlessly, getting glared at reproachfully by Svanna, hanging wet clothes on the lines not being pelted by dust), I felt oddly refreshed and giddy, almost excited. I anticipated learning Fenris's plan for escaping, or being _freed_, as he had put it.

I grabbed a dusting rag and a plumed duster, planning to dust all of the useless knickknacks the Magister had thrown up on her walls.

_Really, if she is so tight on coin, one would imagine her selling these garish things…though I am uncertain of who in their right mind would buy them._

There were nearly-rusting weapons, a lot of clunky vases, and a few wooden trinkets that I was completely unsure about that had been pelted with dust – since there were no windows in the hall, I could not fathom how.

I started on the right side of the hallway, working my way across the long wall, dusting everything in sight. My hips rocked with the movement of sliding left ever so slowly. My energy kept the task interesting as I forced myself to stretch in different ways to reach the topmost trophies.

The hallway was empty when I looked both ways. I rolled my shoulders as I continued dusting the valuables, shifting back and forth on my feet, grinning to myself and feeling mischievous.

I wiggled my hips, dancing to the tips of my feet to reach the highest mounted vase, moving to the beat of music in my head, my mind drifting to the times that I had been coerced into dancing by Isabela or Merrill.

I nearly hummed, but thought better of the superfluous noise. It was enough just to shake around, bouncing and twirling, smothering my giggles in the meantime. I jiggled around, hopping and dusting maniacally, panting and out of breath but snickering anyway.

I paused when I saw someone out of the corner of my eye, frozen in place, stretched onto one toe, one hand thrust forward and the other flailing behind me. I turned my head slowly to see Fenris smirking confusedly at my antics, a hand lifting to palm his face.

Sticking my nose up at him with a short laugh, I resumed my dancing and dusting, preparing to thoroughly enjoy myself.

If Broody wanted to comment on what I was doing, he would.

But he didn't. He stepped closer and halted my movements with his strong hands on my hips, his lithe fingers holding me still, pausing me quick enough to bestow a peck on my lips.

He released me and walked away to guard another part of the estate, a chuckle forming beneath his breath. I beamed into the cloudy dust, spinning back to my work as he walked away.

My free energy eventually petered out, though I still smiled and enjoyed some retained buoyancy.

_We are going to run away together._

The thought made me shiver and grin like a madwoman.

**-GC-**

It was difficult to keep my magic under lock and key, though I was an expert at keeping myself shady.

I had been running from the templar since the day I began toddling around on wobbly legs; suppressing my magic during rough times came as a second nature to me.

Suppressing magic for such a long amount of time, however, left me feeling exhausted and frustrated. Always on edge, I kept my talents hidden below, taking care to hide my nature from everyone I came into contact with – it was a continuous battle that I fought against myself and the sizzling beneath my skin.

I was especially mindful of Fausta – not that I had much reason to be in close quarters with the griping magister, but I was particularly wary around her.

I felt quite sneaky.

And Fenris would leave often; never for very long, and he would usually return a little disheveled, but no worse for wear.

I would miss him, as the hours dragged when I was unable to see his face; there were no shared smiles, no stolen glances, no sneaked kisses.

It grew depressing.

I sighed. No, Fenris was often absent – but I was never alone. I had Pana, and to an extent, Vallow and Svanna and the other elves and-

_Ring, ring, ring._

I groaned, imagining my magic twitching irritably.

_Amelia._

Her amount of suitors had doubled in the last week; they seemed to appear in droves, offering...whatever the Tevinter people found charming. Or impressive.

Clearly, they did not impress me; though I doubted anyone but Fenris had the ability to woo me.

Woo.

I snorted to myself, causing a few slaves to glance exasperatingly over their shoulders.

They were pretty accustomed to my antics.

_Woooooo._

_Ring, ring, ring._

"I'm coming," I muttered, wishing I could go ahead and tell the girl where the_ flibbertigibbet_ could stick her damn bell.

**-GC-**

Dishes were officially a pain in my ass.

I finished them quickly enough, but could never get the greasy smell of watered down food from my skin and nostrils.

And all the while, eyes of a dozen elves lingered on my back. I could never tell what message they tried to send; I sensed that a few were condemning, a few were grateful – that I would be gone soon, one would think.

A few were awed.

I openly defied my Mistress countless times, of course.

_Damn_, it felt good to be a rebel.

_I need to reevaluate my life_.

Quickly evading the pointing gazes in the kitchen, I rushed out of the room as soon as the dishes were put away.

If those elves intended to say something, they'd say it. _To my face or ass_; _I didn't care which_.

I climbed the stairs to begin collecting laundry – there was never a day without dirty laundry, which was tiresome – and my eyes lingered on the window at the end of the Magister's hall.

The one Fenris and I had thrown a body out of.

Stifling a snort, I drifted toward the pane in reminiscence, wondering at the night he kissed me.

_I wonder what in the blazes he had been thinking__._

I glanced below briefly as I turned, but what caught my eye dragged me straight back until I was nearly glued to the glass.

It was Fenris – but it was more than Fenris. There were other elves, all built and lean, some I had seen, others I didn't know even walked the estate. They were in a circular pit of dirt, sparring, wrestling, grappling, and even some raised arced blades.

And there was Fenris, a warrior at heart, smack in the middle of them all – pinning a larger elf against the ground with a snarl on his face.

He was shirtless, like a few of the other men; I could see the muscles rippling in his back as he dove and twisted, fighting with the others, training as hard as he could. It hardly matched the grace I had come to know and expect from him, but he was no less beautiful for it; the way he moved with such precision, strength and passion took my breath away.

Sweat glinted off of his skin, highlighting the stripes of old pain on his back, but even the reminder of our failures couldn't dim the smile on my face as I watched him tackle a grown, fierce looking man to the ground, slamming him face hard into the dirt.

Even without the use of his tattoos or claymore, he was a difficult opponent to subdue. In the end, it took four men to bring him down, and I laughed as he still continued kicking and punching.

I felt like such a creeper.

Stalking him from a window. _So wrong._

_Yet so right_.

"You would do well to leave him alone," Svanna said, quietly approaching from behind. I didn't acknowledge her, staring intently down at the group as Fenris rose easily and they packed up their gear and donned their clothes.

How long had Svanna even _been _there?

Had she seen me stalking Fenris?

Maker, these people were going to give me a heart attack.

"Isn't one death enough for you?" she asked, standing over me, thin and long. "Or do you wish to take Leto, as well?"

My lips thinned. "Haven't you heard?" I asked sweetly, feeling my lips try to twitch into an angry frown and fighting against the compulsion. "We are going to be freed."

_I am a bigger person._

_I am _the_ bigger person._

_Bitch, I'm such a better person than you._

"Freedom is no guarantee of life," she responded despondently, following my gaze as it tracked Fenris in action. "I fear the road ahead of the two of you may be rife with danger."

"Danger is my specialty," I replied as she stepped away from the window and I with a sigh.

"You are no good, Marian," she sent the jab over her shoulder. "No good for Leto, no good for yourself.

"Grow up."

I watched her leave, staring blankly at the long tail of her dress.

"You're wrong," I murmured to the window, staring off into the distance, wondering where the future would find us.

_Is she?_

**-GC-**

_Men._

Everywhere.

I doubt I had ever seen so many suitors for one girl; Svanna ushered them in by the minute.

She would need one of the shovels to get them out; Fausta was, apparently, quite desperate to marry Amelia off.

I couldn't imagine why.

_Thought the mage in a sarcastic monologue to herself__._

Sighing, I picked up my bucket and mop and stomped away, feeling a certain longing for a beardless dwarf of mine and his endless amount of quips.

_Lunch time for the slaves_, I thought as I saw people rush past. A tiny hand wrapped around mine and I smiled, depositing my supplies in the closet and letting Pana pull me through the slave passages and to the crowded mess hall, stepping in line behind a thickly-muscled guardsman. His ashy hair curled around his head and he took up his bread with a quick dart of calloused fingers, turning directly on his heel for the refreshments.

The bread, stale and hard, was dotted with hard legumes for extra texture.

_Perfect_.

_Cattle food._

I sighed and handed Pana her roll, never breaking stride in the flowing line; she was light on her feet beside me as I retrieved a wooden bowl and pumped it full of whatever swill that was available to us. The liquid smelled hideous; like ancient, soured cotton covered in spoiled lyrium. It had a faintly brown tinge to it, and I hoped that it tasted better than it looked and smelled.

Pana led me to an unoccupied patch of floor, and together we sat, our meal between our bowed heads.

"Legumes," I moaned, holding up the brick of bread laced with the offending beans. "I _hate _legumes."

"Wash them down with the _cosca_," Pana ordered seriously, biting into her own bread.

"_Cosca_?" I pondered, lifting the wooden bowl. "Is that with the horse piss is called?"

Pana smiled at me, amused with my description. The look was cute on her elfin features, straight nose curling – a child tolerating an adult.

"Smells like vinegar," I complained, wrinkling my nose. "I _hate _vinegar. What happened to the beautiful simplicity of water?"

We chewed quietly for a few moments while I glared at my offensive drink. Pana looked up at me, her blonde hair falling over her thin shoulder as she swallowed. "You and Leto..."

I waited for her to continue; when she didn't, I inferred her meaning. I scooted closer to her, pushing the last crust of my bread into my mouth and crunching through the legumes. "We'll be parting this place," I whispered, pushing her hair over her shoulder as a consoling gesture, not wanting her to be upset. Pana lowered her head further, her lips and brow drawing together in a troubled pucker.

"Soon?" she asked, setting down her wooden cup and staring at the faintly brown liquid settling within.

"Soon," I echoed, staring at the floor. "I don't know when, exactly, but he...he told me he was trying."

"That's good," Pana said, voice creaking before she cleared her throat. "I'm - happy - for you."

"Pana," I said, wrapping an arm around her comfortingly, my heart growing heavy. "Everything will-"

"Back to work," called Svanna from the door, pointing the slaves back to their duties.

Pana stood quickly, grabbing my full bowl as well as her own to deposit in the wash pile; she followed the line of people out the door before I could catch up to her in the jostling crowd, a troubling feeling gathering in the pit of my stomach.

_Fucking legumes._

I promised myself that I would catch up to her later.

When that would be, however, I could not say.

**-GC-**

The day had reached ripeness and past when I later saw my beau; Fenris must have washed since his hour of training - he smelled nice and fresh when he walked in through the slave's entrance, bearing a grin and a letter.

He winked at me secretively, causing a few other women that were cleaning around us to gasp at his brazenness; I smirked as he drew me close, clearing his throat quietly.

"I brought you something," he said nervously, but still smiling. "It may be a little crushed." I cocked my head, and he dug into the side of his pants, retrieving a slightly crumpled flower.

My eyes widened as I coughed out a laugh of surprise, snatching the rumpled plant. "A flower?"

"It would be fair of me to announce my intentions," Fenris growled in my ear, not pleased with my amusement.

"Your intentions?" I repeated, my mind blank from the deep, rumbling timbre in his rakish voice.

"To be your suitor, of course," Fneirs said smoothly, pulling away and brandishing his letter. "Beautiful ladies deserve their fair share of gentleman callers, after all." Blush flooded my cheeks and my mouth popped open as he stepped smartly down the hall. "Excuse me, I have something to deliver."

I was not the only woman gaping as his backside as he left, but I was definitely the only one clinging to a bruised, pinkish flower.

Touching the wounded petals, I fought the urge to stop smiling and failed, feeling the soft, rumpled lumps of the desiccated blossom.

The most beautiful Maker-damned flower I had ever held.

_Poor thing, what did he do to it?_

When my senses returned to me, I flew after his vanished figure, curiosity and a burning need to see his face again sending my feet running down the halls and up the stairs. The other slaves sent me withering glances as I passed, running and jostling by them, but it was _Vallow_, the raven haired elf, who gave me halt.

Vallow, who snatched my wrist and pulled me into a doorway short of Fausta's study. She pressed a finger to her lips and crouched beside the wall, motioning me forward.

I was confused until she poked a sliver of metal on the wall –a slot for letters. Understanding, I knelt beside her and we stared through the small rectangular hole in the wall, searching for Fausta and Fenris.

Her desk was just outside of our line of sight, but I could see Fenris, his muscles coiled and clenched, his dark hair masking his gaze as he bowed. My eyes widened as I wondered at his reason for stress – until I heard the seal of a letter being ripped open.

"What is this?" Fausta murmured to herself, leaning back in her chair. I saw the tip of her naked foot beneath blue robes as she crossed her legs to read the contents of the letter. "A credit of freedom? For Marian?" She pondered a moment, her foot dipping. "The human?"

"Yes, Mistress," Fenris said dutifully, his head bowed. "I have performed adequately, and should it be your wish, my reward is to these specifications."

"I see," Fausta said, sounding unsatisfied. "You may leave."

He bowed deeply, and I could see the muscles of his arms tremble – with excitement? – before he turned and took his leave of her. I didn't remove my eyes from him until the door had shut completely behind his back.

_So it is really happening._ Vallow and I gently allowed the slit of metal to drop, hoping we made no sounds. We stood, pausing together as we both absorbed what had just happened.

Violet eyes peered into my own, ferreting out the meaning to the encounter we had witnessed together; I wanted to thank her, but could not find the words.

_My imminent freedom was just plainly acknowledged._

Vallow lunged forward, wrapping me into a tight hug; I inhaled sharply, and she released me, a slight smile on her face. Black bangs shadowed her eyes as she nodded, and I blinked at her stupidly.

_It seems I have yet another comrade._

We parted ways, and I sought out Fenris.

**-GC-**

"Does my suitor care to have a moment with me?" I asked, leaning on the doorframe. Fenris glanced over his shoulder, pocketing a lump of leftover - the stiff bread from the lunch that he had missed. It had grown dark outside; Fausta would either be in her study or asleep, and I knew that none of the other slaves would dare rat us out, despite all of Svanna's warnings.

"Always," Fenris murmured, beckoning me to a quiet corner of the windowless cafeteria. There was a single table – it wobbled, and had a rather troubling crack down the middle of it, but it had a sturdy bench that we could sit on and spy the door from. "What would you have of me?"

"What wouldn't I have of you?" I returned, reaching up to twirl a finger in his hair. He batted my hand away abstractedly, reaching into his pocket to grasp the crust of bread. I lifted my hand again, settling it on the back of his head, running my fingertips through the strands.

He grunted, glaring at me askance. I smiled, not removing my hand.

"You're not in a very good mood anymore." I reached into my smock and groping for the flower I had stuck into a loose stitch, pulling it out to twirled it with my free hand, humming quietly.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..._

He sighed. "I know. It has been...a trying afternoon."

"Anything I could do to make it better?" I sat my prized flower on the table so as to not crush it further in my palm.

"There certainly isn't much you could do to make it worse," Fenris said, taking a bite out of his bread. Crumbs fell onto his pants, and I helped him by brushing them off. He caught my wrist, cocking an eyebrow at my familiar behavior.

I didn't apologize, preferring instead to shake my hand free of his and slide my knee onto the bench beside us so that I faced him. The rough wood scraped at the skin of my leg, a mild irritant.

_Better not give me splinters, you damn bench._

I gazed at his profile for a few moments while he chewed and swallowed thickly without the use of water or the _ever delightful _cosca, then my sight fell to the bent stem of the pink flower lying on the table.

I sucked on my lips when I smiled bashfully as I stared, quite fond of it already, wishing that I could return the sweet gesture. "Thank you for my flower," I said quietly, biting my lower lip.

He hummed discontentedly, and I huffed, switching my attention back to his grimacing face.

I sighed. _Such a maverick._

"I could distract you," I offered when some time had passed with only quiet chewing; I leaned forward to slide my lips against the angular line of his jaw, brushing softness against the taut flesh. "You could answer a few of my...questions..." I planted a slick kiss to the hollow dip beneath his jaw and he inhaled.

More crumbs fell to his lap as he squeezed his crumbly roll in his palm.

"Questions?" he muttered, taking another absentminded bite of his roll before he crushed it to bits.

"A few things I'm curious about," I hummed against his olive skin, moistening my lips.

His roll forgotten, he tilted his head to give me better access to his neck. "Hmm...curious, are you?"

"Very much so.

"Tell me," I commanded, nibbling up to his earlobe and smiling when he shuddered. "What your life was like before you came here."

"Before..." he trailed off, mouth agape as my kisses bestowed themselves the remainder of the way up his ear. He hissed when I sucked on the pointed tip, leaning onto my knee to reach the spot so high up. He didn't mind it this time when my hand found its way into his hair, tangling and stroking. "Before..."

"_Yes_, before," I grinned, loving the effect I had on him. My teeth scraped his skin lightly, and he tipped his head back and groaned – a low, rumbling growl that made my spine shiver and my stomach contract.

"Maker, Marian," he exclaimed, bowing his head away from my mouth. "I will tell you if you promise to_ stop _that."

"But I _enjoy_ that," I returned, nuzzling his dark skin, pressing my lips back to his throat.

"I know," he lamented, but did not push me away. Fenris lifted his hands, rubbing the pads of his fingers down my arms and back up over my shoulders, tantalizing me with goose bumps. "The Magister brought me from Seheron seven years ago."

"Seheron," I murmured, scooting closer to drape my legs comfortably across his. My arm wrapped around his slim waist and I dragged my nose across his exposed collar – the shirt he was dressed in was clearly a hand-me-down, thus too large to hug his frame. "One big jungle."

I saw a flicker of a smile on his face from below his jaw, but it may have been my imagination.

"Yes," Fenris agreed. "It does have its wild charm."

I chuckled, tucking my head beneath his chin. "What was it like there?"

"I never left my Master's estate," Fenris said, his fingers lightly stroking the skin of my back. "So I cannot reasonably say what the rest of Seheron is like, but the corner I grew up on...was paradise." He paused a moment. "Compared to here," he clarified. "This place, this _dust bowl_, cannot measure up to the green moisture of my former home."

"And your mother and sister? What were they like?" I prodded him, angling my head so I could hear his breaths; the sound comforted me more than anything else.

"Varania," he began a catch in his voice, "is...she's..."

I lifted my head to better look into his emerald gaze. "Yes?"

He exhaled, a decent, affectionate smile lighting his face. "She's one of the most important women in my entire world," he said, not meeting my eyes –embarrassment?- but his smile did not diminish. I felt the corners of my own mouth lift upwards in response to his words. "She has Mother's flaming red hair, but we share our green eyes; we are not distant in age, yet I have always valued my position as her elder brother."

My head dropped back to his chest softly as my own expanded, feeling oddly full of emotion as he disclosed this part of himself to me.

"We have argued a lot because we are much alike," he continued, and I stared at the ceiling with him. "But mother has always said that her personality has a kinder quality. I tend to agree with her judgment."

"I have a hard time believing such a thing," I teased. "You, unkind?"

"Laugh all you wish." He poked me in the ribs, making me giggle and jerk against him. "We used to play together, when we were little. We were the only two children that the master owned, but he was not malicious; he did not force us to do work until we were adequately aged."

I swallowed my rebuttal against _that _opinion; I did not want to get into an argument with him.

The thought of a young, green eyed little Fenris doing the tasks I did all day made me feel sick to my stomach.

If I had not had a background of strenuous activity, I would have been sore off my ass that first week in the mansion.

"I would tease her for having red hair," he said, and I felt his adam's apple dip beside my cheek. "It was a playful teasing between brother and sister, but..." He looked away. "One day, she grew angry at my teasing...and lit my pants on fire."

I gasped, smothering a laugh with my hand so it would not wake anyone nearby. "She lit them...on _fire_?" I chortled through my nose, shaking against him. "_Priceless_."

"Yes," Fenris said, queerly raising his eyebrow at me. "The same day, the master determined that she was a mage."

My eyes bugged out of my skull. "A _mage_?" I repeated, awestruck. "Your sister...a _mage_?"

So she _didn't _use torch or flint.

_Perhaps Fenris isn't so much a mage hater as he has led me to believe._

Fenris nodded, seemingly enjoying my reaction. "There is a great fee that magisters must pay to be in...possession of a mage," he explained. "But the master enjoyed having a young girl around and paid for her. I believe he even carried her beneath his tutelage for a short while." He sighed, his arm loosening around me as he grew lost in thought; I nearly expected him to push me from his lap and rise, but he didn't.

"Seheron was home," he said a while later, a note of finality in his voice. "For a while, I longed for the island heat and familiarity. But I believe my perspective has changed considerably since I was last there."

"Changed?" I asked numbly, my mind still tumbling around the new information in my mind. _Varania__,__ a mage. The future Fenris would _kill_ to know__._ "How so?"I hid my smile in his chest. _Perhaps he will be more accepting than I first figured._

"Home is no longer a place," was all he said as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly against him, comforting and warm.

The embrace certainly did feel like home.

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><p><strong>Favorite FenrisHawke moment? ****In game or otherwise.**  
><strong>I <em>am<em> open to fanfic reading suggestions, after all. ;3**

**Sorry I was a little late, and thanks for taking the time to read!**


	14. 12 Escape

**Some of us like EVERY Fenris/Hawke moment – others prefer the "make up" moment in Act 3, which is especially adorable.**  
><strong><br>Hahahaha – I found a typo in the last chapter. "Fneirs" - I laughed way too loud after I smacked my forehead.**

**Not gonna change it. It brings me joy.**

**I WUV YOU FNEEEEIRS.**

**Partial warning****: A scene near the bottom of this chapter may not be SFW. It's not a lemon, more like a lime.**

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><p><strong>Recap<strong>: _Marian and Fenris are still trapped within Fausta's rule, but Fenris has composed an "escape" plan. Fausta's daughter Amelia drives Marian insane with increasing frequency, and Marian has taken it upon herself to be a good role model for the young elf Pana. Marian is still in a state of excitement after learning that Varania herself is a mage, and the last chapter ended with some fluffy bits._

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><p><em>This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last. – Oscar Wilde<em>

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><p><strong>12. The Escape<strong>

We sat in the dark for a while after he had eaten his late meal, speaking quietly amongst the rags and buckets. The pallet I had lain upon while injured had finally been removed, but we didn't mind lying on the floor. The dust had become less oppressive, considering how often we had snuck away to be together in the clammy closet.

"Where have you been going off to?" I asked curiously, picking at a loose thread on his dirty tunic. "You've been away so often recently," I stated with a pout.

"So full of questions tonight," Fenris groaned, staring up at the ceiling with his neck propped against the wall. "Must you always be so inquisitive?"

"I must," I said solemnly, laying my head on his firm chest. "If I don't ask all of my questions, I will eventually spontaneously combust into a thousand flames- do you really want that to happen?"

He hummed, and I poked his stomach. "My duty," he finally answered, a hint of discomfort in his voice. "As protector." His fingers began a circuit on my arm – trailing with aching lightness from just below my elbow, all the way up to circle my shoulder – slowly and delicately touching the skin, nearly soothing me into a slumber.

My lips curled indulgently at the reminder of his role – _protector_. To one of the infallible magisters, the mages who boasted endless power, Fenris – the slave – remained the defender and guard.

I prodded his belly button, a little disappointed when he didn't squirm.

"I am glad that I am not so uncertain in my own abilities that I need to employ," I paused, "or own, rather, someone whose sole duty is to protect my life."

Fenris chuckled thinly, sliding the palm of his hand over my shoulder before resuming his unmarked track. "And if a person wishes to keep you safe of their own free will?"

My grin widened; I hid it in the folds of his shirt. "I suppose I wouldn't mind then," I grudgingly mumbled into his chest.

His hand stopped its course mid stroke; when it did not resume, I shifted until my chin sat atop his breastbone and I could see his face as his head propped against the wall.

Fenris stared at the dark ceiling, a stony expression sculpting his features into all sharp, hard angles and grim lips.

"Hey," I murmured, scooting closer to his face. I placed a small kiss across the dip in skin between the tip of his chin and bottom lip. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply through his nose. I pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth, letting my hair and nose graze his cheek. My breasts pressed against his firm chest as I leaned downward again, touching my mouth to his, feeling the contrasting soft and hard touches his body could afford me.

His mouth was hot, and I carded my fingers through his bangs, cradling his cheek. When I pulled back, I noticed his brow had pulled further together.

"What's wrong, Fenris?" I asked again before placing slow kisses up the side of his face. When I reached the apple of his cheek, I pressed my forehead against his and stared into his shrouded face, trying to place whatever unsettled emotion that I found there. "You should be happy," I encouraged weakly, kissing the tip of his nose.

"I should," Fenris said in a sigh. "My apologies if I'm ruining your good mood."

"I would rather you be honest with your feelings," I said, sliding my hands onto his chest and pushing backwards until I was seated upright. "I care about what you're thinking, Fenris."

He said nothing; I listened to his steady breathing for a moment, thinking absently about his self-proclaimed suitor status. "Thank you for my flower," I said bashfully, sliding the tip of a finger around his chest. I had stuck the flower through a thread on the inside of my frock so that it would not be seen – but it could remain close to my heart.

It was, quite possibly, the most meaningful thing anyone had ever given me.

I spent most of my life bestowing gifts upon my friends and family; it was easy, giving up the things that I had. Most of my life had been spent having nothing and breaking my back to keep my family safe and provided for; I knew what depression and fear felt like, and could see variables of the emotions in my companions. It made me feel accomplished to make peoples' lives brighter by offering kind words or a special trinket.

Never had I expected some gesture in return; the reward was in giving something meaningful to someone else, in showing them that someone appreciated them enough to have them in their thoughts.

Now, I knew the extraordinary feeling of being remembered. Of being present in someone's thoughts – enough so that something beautiful would remind them of me.

It almost brought tears to my sat up as well, changing the blending shadows in the room as he shifted around. "I need to leave soon," he said, stretching his back. I grimaced as I heard his facet joints pop and crack.

"Where will you be going?" I placed a hand on his covered leg, already missing menial contact with him.

_Attached? Maybe._

He tried to smile; I could see the effort he took in morphing his expression, but the emotion fell flat as he gazed at the back of my hand. "Nowhere distinctly special; I must guard the Mistress tonight."

"Fausta," I corrected stubbornly. "You're guarding Fausta tonight. You won't be a slave for much longer, Fenris."

Fenris did muster up a smile at that, although a short lived, weak one. "Yes," he said, turning his head. "I'm sorry that I cannot spend the night with you again."

"Don't worry about that," I said, my mouth screwing oddly. Something heavy – an awful, overbearing weight – perched itself precariously inside of my chest, the size and feeling of it formidable and dark.

I couldn't imagine from where the odd feeling originated. "We'll be leaving soon, anyway – no more sleepless nights apart anymore, right?"

_Nothing to worry about._

"Yes," Fenris said again, his voice a mere wisp in the dark.

My hands trembled as something ominous perched outside perimeter of my paranoia. I breathed through my nose, trying to calm myself.

I was certain he could feel the tickle of my shaking fingers on his leg, though he didn't say anything.

_What the shit is wrong with me?_

The rising force overtook me, and I flung myself onto him. The panic I had attempted to suppress crashed over me again and I straddled his lap, forcing myself against him. He jerked in surprise when my mouth collided with his and I moved against him, moaning desperately into his mouth and still _trembling_.

_I'm sorry,_ I pleaded in my mind, pressing myself down onto him. I _needed _him – the feeling scorched at my insides until I gave myself over it. He stiffened and finally returned my kiss with muted passion, a dull flame in comparison to my roaring fire. I could feel him, though, beneath me, his desire stirring as I molded my hands over his cheeks and held him to me in a searing kiss that seemed to last a lifetime without waning an inch in intensity.

My voice shook when I finally released him and spoke, my hands dropping from his face reluctantly. "Forgive me," I said, shuddering as the after affects of the sharp nervousness held onto me. "I – I don't know why –"

He said nothing, but when I didn't move from overtop him he slid his hand across the small of my back comfortingly. "It's fine, Marian." His voice was stretched thin over gravel. I pulled away contritely, fighting off the overbearing feelings as I climbed off of him, worried that I had overstepped a boundary.

"Sorry," I whispered again, wrapping my arms around my stomach and staring away from him.

I heard Fenris sigh, and then he inched closer. "You took me by surprise," he explained, holding out his open arms to me. I looked up at him a moment, gauging his sincerity, before crawling back to him, clenching my eyes and feeling his arms wrap around me securely.

"I don't know what came over me," I said after a few moments of quietly being held by Fenris.

"Would it help to know that I sometimes feel the exact same way?" he asked, and I snorted.

"I doubt it. I think I'm unstable." I shuffled until I was back on his lap – so comforting, so sweet, and – and -

"Oh," I said, shifting again, and I saw him wince. I giggled at his discomfort. "Sorry," I apologized, not exactly meaning it. "I didn't mean to..." I slid my backside over his erection again and he groaned and tried to push me off of him.

I bit my lip in a smile and the timid little girl within me was erased.

_Maybe a sexy cuddle is good for every once in a while. For more than a few reasons._

"I need to go," Fenris said gruffly, rising.

"Are you certain?" I asked, eyeing the bulge in his thin pants shamelessly. "I could possibly help you with your problem. Or give you few more problems."

"Only a few?" He turned away from me, blocking off my line of sight in an incredibly embarrassed – and cute - move. "I have my orders," he said uncomfortably, adjusting his pants.

"If you say so," I said, a little disappointed.

_I could give you a few orders._

"Good night, Marian," Fenris said, and I stood as well, beckoning him over. He obliged, and I gave him another wet kiss on the heart of his mouth.

When I pulled away, the unnamed emotion had returned to his expression. "Good night, Fenris," I bid him, watching as he turned his back to me and exited.

After a few minutes of standing alone in the dark, I made the decision to go lie down with Pana and try to get some sleep. When I finally mustered the will to step from the room, I placed a name to the tight expression he had borne – the unsettling cold look in his eyes during a moment that should have been tender.

Dread.

Pana remained undisturbed by my sudden presence beside her; she was snuggled against the wall when I wriggled my way beneath the hulking closet, shutting my mind off and allowing myself to relax.

_Nothing to be afraid of_, I wished to say as feelings of sadness mingled within me; it took minutes of lying in the dark, hearing the breathing of sleeping elves all around me, to even myself out and find a somewhat peaceful rest.

**-E-**

_It was raining._

_She had no explanation for why; she cast her clear eyes to the sky, imagining that she could see the hand of the Maker sweeping through the black, roiling clouds._

_Her chin tipped downwards again, her wet hair sticking to her cheek. The pinpricks of rain were cold on her skin, and though she was mostly covered with clothing, she could feel the tapping of the drops plainly as if they were slapping her bare body._

_White flashed before her eyes and she focused on a pinpoint in front of her; taking off into a straight line, she ran purposefully toward the object – the object which grew into a blurry figure the closer she came._

_Her surroundings were a mesh of gray and black, melding together around the person in front of her. He was tall, thin, but muscular – soaking white hair leaked streams of water from the sky onto his shirtless back, the liquid tracing the curves of pale tattoos that decorated his entire frame__._

_He was beautiful._

_She blinked, slowing her run to marvel further at the broad expanse of his shoulders – she could see the drooping point of his ear and knew him to be an elf._

_Didn't he know it was raining?_

_She was at his back, then, gazing upon his marked skin with amazement – the grace of the stylistic tattoos was unfounded. With a smile she stepped forward and turned her head, preparing to address him and tell him how gorgeous she found him._

_The compliment stalled in the back of her throat._

_His eyes were clenched shut – in anger, pain, sorrow? His teeth were bared in a fearsome grimace; she raised her hand to try and touch his shoulder, but thunder struck sharply and she jerked away in surprise._

_"Do you need help?" the replacement words fell from her lips._

_Green, agonized eyes turned to her. "Why, hawk?" he asked, the question meaningless. She stared at his face for a moment more before movement below caught her gaze._

_The white lines on his skin had began to dance, glowing and rolling around his skin, twisting into new shapes and forming new patterns before her eyes – new possibilities, she thought. She reached to touch them, curious to see if she could change their position herself and alter the way they formed on his skin._

_When the tip of her index finger made contact with his shoulder, the elf howled and collapsed onto his knees, body bowed backward and face bared to the sky. She flinched again at the sharp, painful sound, and when she reopened her eyes, his skin had twisted the elf from something beautiful to something sinister, blistering and darkening until his skin was marred and fiendish._

_His tormented screaming filled the air. She backed away in horror, covering her mouth with her hand._

_"How could you do this to me?"_

My head slammed into hard wood and lights flashed before my eyes with the blinding pain that followed. I mouthed _ow_, feeling tears collect behind my eyelids.

_Fuckshit that hurt._

_How_ did I manage to jerk awake? I had been sleeping beneath the hulking bit of furniture for _how long_, exactly?

I unclenched my body after the pain dulled to a throb and noticed that a ringing bell had awoken me – one of the bells that announced the changing hour.

It was time to rise. Pana was awake as well, though I wasn't sure if that was my fault or the bell's.

I stretched my tightly-coiled body, bowing backwards as my fingertips brushed the outside of the furniture piece. I yawned, shaking off the bruising pain as well as the old discomforts that came with sleeping on a cold, hard floor.

_One day, your body will be used to this._

_It was all that damn pampering up in Hightown – it's made you soft, Hawke._

"Good morning," I greeted, rubbing my fingers against my forehead and peaking sideways and the yawning Pana, who raised her eyebrows at me.

"Morning," she returned with a brief sigh before I rolled out from underneath the closet to prepare for another day.

I took a deep breath and combed my hair with my fingers, pushing the oily tresses away from my face and forcing myself to exude an air of calm with every swipe, despite the goose egg that I just _knew _was growing ripe on my face.

Pana followed me, and I helped her comb her tidy hair into a high bun at the back of her head, securing it with a bit of rope saved for such nuisances. With a kiss on her cheek, we headed to the door, avoiding some of the still-sleeping slaves that had duties that lasted later than ours.

"Have a good day," I grumbled.

**-E-**

Vallow and I made quite a team – with the other elves working alongside, of course. We all pitched in seamlessly throughout the day, mending and sweeping and shining in turn. No slave ever sat still, and now that I knew the rhythm to the cleaning force of the mansion, the only thing left to learn was simply the matter of stepping into tune.

We all worked together perfectly.

"Drehal!" somebody hissed as the sound of quick, slapping feet echoed down the hallway.

A muted shout, and the elf boy Drehal slid across the freshly-mopped floor across the room from Vallow and I. We simultaneously dropped our mops, and I kicked myself into gear to try and catch his fall.

Drehal nearly flew as he landed on his back hard, spinning to the wall. My feet slipped below me and I scrambled to find purchase and balance on the soapy floor, sliding clumsily on my bare feet in the direction that the elf boy headed. He took out a shiny blue vase with him, shattering it to bits and undoubtedly cutting himself up in the process.

It was quite a racket, and of course, Fenris showed up not a moment later – though I didn't see him until I had already collapsed soundly on my ass.

I raised my hand to him as I daintily rose stepped over to Drehal, who was shaking with adrenaline – or fear. I patted his head and examined his cuts, noting that they didn't seem to be too serious. I offered him my hand and glanced to Vallow, who had already set to cleaning up the remains of the deceased vase. Together, Drehal and I – trailed closely by Fenris - walked through the kitchen, which was silent, as it was too early for anyone to even begin preparations for breakfast. I held onto the trembling boy, my hand firmly on his shoulders and his arm wrapped around my waist.

Fenris dutifully followed.

He had to _know_ that I would not let him so much as _touch _the boy aggressively at this point.

Still, he trailed.

I took Drehal into the room for the slaves, since it was mostly empty – Fenris entered quietly behind us, shutting the door silently and looking for all the world completely rumpled and tired.

I sighed before addressing the boy.

"Are you okay?" I asked, looking him over. He had a slight gash near his elbow, but it wasn't exactly life threatening. He nodded slowly, sending fearful glances toward Fenris. I glanced over my shoulder at the prowling elf. "You're insane if you think I'll let you lay a hand on him," I said, raising my chin defiantly. "It was an accident. Go stalk a cupboard."

Fenris sighed, though not irritably.

Almost like he had to put effort into sounding put off.

_Maker forbid he ever lose his mean streak._

"It's my job," he groused, crossing his arms and taking a step forward – which, with his long legs, took him pretty far.

"No, no, no," I contradicted, pushing Drehal behind me. "Your job is to protect Fausta from assassins and murderers – not little boys."

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "I will not be forced to punish you for disobeying – _again_."

"Too bad," I quipped, pulling the boy to the closet Pana and I slept beneath, not trusting Fenris for a second. I opened the door and fished around for a dusty bandage kit we used in case of accidents and wished that I could just magic the pains away.

_Too risky. Keep that magic under lock and key, woman._

"Try to be more cautious in the future, Drehal," I advised as I made certain that the wound was clean and adjusted his bandage so that it wouldn't shift.

I felt Fenris at my back, his presence warm but commanding. "Be careful, Marian," he grumbled, making me smile.

_Growing up, Fen? _Had this incident happened a month ago, he would have cracked his whip before I even had the chance to whisk the boy away from the scene.

"I usually am," I whispered over my shoulder. He captured my waist with his hand, tugging me backward long enough to plant a kiss on my neck.

The boy watched with wide eyes, and I grimaced; though Fenris pulled away quickly, I could feel the sting of his lips on the sensitive skin as he turned and left without another word, leaving me to fret internally over the boy who just witnessed a public display of affection from the house punisher.

_Though, I suppose that if Drehal were to turn us in, it would be for something besides Fenris being overly friendly with me_.

"Try not to be in such of a hurry all the time," I said soothingly, patting the elf's head again as he stared up at me blankly. The door shut behind Fenris's back and I relaxed further, telling Drehal to go wipe down the kitchen one last time before the cooks inhabited their roost and not to _run in the house for the millionth time_. I stood for a moment, listening to the next round of bells and sighing to myself before I left to find Vallow and rejoin the dizzying routine of the estate.

There seemed to be thousands of floors to sweep and mop, but at least I no longer saw myself as working alone – I had an armada of cleaning slaves by my side, and together we conquered the tyranny of the dastardly, damnable dust.

...we cleaned a lot.

It was an hour or two later that I saw Fenris.

"We will be officially released from Fausta's ownership today," he murmured by my temple as we crossed paths, his lips grazing the shell of my ear as he leaned in close to speak. Once the final word left his mouth, he continued on his path, leaving me in one of the house's corridors.

Today.

_Today?_

I turned to watch him leave, a bucket of water weighing one arm and a mop in the other, staring at his lean, lanky form as he departed.

"Today," I spoke, my throat barely vibrating with the sounds.

Excitement burst through my veins – _leaving, Fenris and I!_

_I'll have to cook him a proper meal – when we get the funds for it, of course, but I bet he's never had anything as delicious as my homemade apple pie and – oh, we'll sleep beneath the stars as free beings again, touching and pleasuring and – I'll teach him to read again, and -_

I forced myself to calm and resume my work, stamping out the jittery compulsions lodging within my very muscles.

He would be visiting his mother and sister for the last time before we would all be freed – I hoped that he would even bring them back with him so we might depart together. If not, I had told him to inform them that they were to cross to Marnus Pell, a place where I knew we would be able to find a decent port. It was dangerous to head directly into Minrathous or to linger in places where freed slaves were unwanted, and finding an able ship would be first priority.

And if none would take us, at least we could convene at that point and head south together.

Fenris would be donning his leather armor for this occasion to play his part in accompaniment to the Magister while she visited and participated in a seasonal brunch with one of her friendlies – who so happened to be in possession of two elven slaves with flames for hair.

"_Tell them I said 'hello', all right?"_

There was no pomp or fanfare for Fausta's departure, and I was to understand that they were to return before lunch – that would only give Fenris about two hours to spend with his mother and sister, if the horses were surefooted and the weather remained decent.

I groaned, pressing the heel of my palm into my eye. _Selfish woman._

But it would not be a meeting cut short – only a meeting postponed – and that offered me comfort, quelling some of the gloomy sympathy I held for Fenris.

Vallow and I worked in the slaves' quarters for the better part of the morning, mopping barren, fetid and cracked floors. Her clothes were modest, compared to my own; they dusted around her knees but left her strong, toned calves exposed to the heated, dry air.

My hip checked the bulky closet against the wall, and I glared at it for a full five seconds before resuming my scrubbing of the floor – with no comment from the dark-haired Vallow.

_She's quiet_, I thought, casting soap upon the floor, watching as she shoved the recently-scorned closet away from our workspace with her feet. _But strong_.

I had seen her toss around massive loads of laundry like they were a child's toys; she was a powerful specimen, for a sinewy, lithe elf. An asset anywhere. I could see her evolving into a quiet-stepping, keen rogue or even a dealer of secrets – one of Varric's spies.

_He can never have too many spiders skittering around his web. Especially trustworthy ones._

Any scenario would be preferable to her living out the remainder of her life cleaning chamber pots and dusting maddeningly-clingy knickknacks.

Maker, I wished that I could take her with us.

"Did you know Kornyn well?" I quietly asked, assuring that my voice didn't carry far over the sound of our brushes scraping in tandem. In my first few weeks working for Fausta, I had only mingled with a few people – Svanna, Kornyn, Fenris, and Pana. Everyone else was either hesitant or uninterested – it was as if Vallow and the others hadn't even existed. I wondered if they had their own alliances, if everyone knew the lovable Kornyn or if only a few were granted the privilege of being his friend.

"Yes," Vallow answered, succinct and barely audible. She worked over a greasy spot where a dirty, unwashed slave had lain to sleep, her arm trembling with the rapid, jolting movements.

"He was an interesting boy." _Was_. The past-tense and the still-fresh knowledge that _I _had partly contributed to his demise still bit at me sorely. There seemed to be an empty, troublesome quietness that he used to fill with poor jokes and easy camaraderie; Fausta's house lacked the only joviality it had ever possessed in his absence. "It was his idea...for Fenris and I to..." I sucked on my cheek, thinking of my surprise in the moment when he asked me to escape – and to take Fenris with me.

It was such a _terrible moment _to ask, as well. I had been so furious with the elf, but Kornyn always implored me to see the...less rough side of Fenris. Of Leto.

Vallow halted for a moment, lifting her hand from the brush to readjust the loose braid at her neck. I felt her violet eyes slide past me for a moment, her gaze a heavy weight on my skin before she resumed her scrubbing and dropped her attention from me.

"Maker," I exclaimed in a breathy whisper, sitting back on my calves. "I haven't told anyone about that." I brushed the sheen of sweat from my brow, and a glob of soap dripped from the back of my hand and landed on my nose, tickling as it slid down to the tip. "Kornyn targeted me for a few of his nefarious plots, months ago."

Cool eyes slid across mine before scanning the stale room – always watchful, always wary.

_I wish you could come with us._

"Kornyn was always reckless," she answered, tucking a strand of greasy, escaped hair behind her ear. "He drove us all mad with his ideas."

I smiled at the floor as I aimlessly swirled around soap with my brush. "He was a quick one – he would've made a name for himself on the outside, the sneaky bastard." I peered up at Vallow, watching her deft fingers and shadowy instincts. "As you would have."

She scrubbed herself free of her bashful smile before I could be certain it was even there.

"What has it been like?" My brush lay dormant on the floor; she halted her own movements, cocking her head in question. "Being a slave your entire life?"

Vallow sighed, leaning back onto her haunches and rubbing the soreness from her calves away with her thumbs. "What was it like to be free?" she retorted, the bite of the phrase showing through the corners of her eyes.

I shrugged, staring at the musty ceiling. "I was regularly coerced into doing things I did not wish to do. Perhaps the two are not all so different – there are always consequences for every action, slave or not, and though our bodies may be in service now, our minds can never be owned."

Vallow stared away from me as I continued. "I had obligations, friends with their own vices, and other trifles. I had possessions and lovers and –" I bit my lip, feeling homesick as I stared at the hands in my lap. "I wish it would be the same, when we leave. But everything is so different, now. Nothing will be the same." I closed my mouth, remembering to whom I was speaking.

But now that my mind had gotten thinking, it wouldn't shut off.

_She doesn't need to know my problems. No one does; she probably wouldn't even believe me if I told her that I was from a future – or alternate universe – and came to this particular time period by magical fluke._

_It's hard enough for me to wrap my head around. I am Serah Hawke, the mage and still stupid Marian, the slave. I could have attacked Fausta at any time and fled already._

_Why haven't I?_

_Fenris_, a part of me whispered. _You haven't attacked the woman who owns you yet because he would be forced to kill you._

_He wouldn't_, I retaliated. _But would I want to change the future further like that? I would have had to kill Fausta, and then anyone who resisted me._

_Fenris is accomplishing the same thing, without the bloodshed._

_Even when we leave this place, nothing will be the same. I'm changing – _we're _changing – everything that the future is made of._

_Is it worth it?_

_Never seeing Isabela, or Varric, or Merrill, or Aveline – _any _of them – ever again?_

_I could meet them again_, I rationalized. _Nothing is impossible. Improbable, though, if I must search them out myself._

_Father always used to say that once you began rationalizing, you had already lost.  
><em>_  
>And Aveline may never escape the Blight if my family and I didn't help her and her husband.<em>

_Yet, if there is another Marian Hawke existing along with me, and she makes the same choice to speak to that stone years from now – maybe, when the time comes, I can take her place. Almost like nothing happened at all._

_But they won't know Fenris anymore – or will they?_

I almost shrugged off the thought. _Maybe this time around he and Anders won't hate each other so much._

I thought of the healer; if I had collapsed in the Emporium, I would have been taken to him. Was my body lying on a cot, unconscious? Anders would no doubt take good care of me, if I didn't completely disappear.

_Who is holding my hand, as these weeks pass?_

_Who bothers to visit?_

_Does Fenris even darken the door of Anders' clinic?_

_Is someone feeding Felix? Mabari do eat quite a lot. Perhaps if there is another Marian and I end up replacing her, _I_ will be the one feeding Felix whilst she – I – am incapacitated. Or gone.  
><em>  
><em>Will I see the other Marian Hawke die, if my body didn't transport along with me?<em>

_How could any of this happen at all if I change Fenris's future?_

I was giving myself a headache again.

My eyes traveled to Vallow; the quiet, stony elf girl, lost in her own line of thought.

"Kornyn asked me to talk Fenris – Leto – into escaping...but Fenris achieved something greater than I could have hoped." I reached my hand out, stretching until I could grasp her tan fingers. Vallow's eyes flickered to mine again, and a guilty sorrow plagued me.

_Why do I deserve this chance?_

Vallow has endured far worse than I at the hand of an owner.

An entire life of oppression.

"I wish that you could be freed, as well." I squeezed her fingers, and she finally rewarded me with a dim smile. "You, and Pana. Everyone I promise to not forget my comrades here."

_If hope ever fails, remember us._

Remember that we made it, and that we will come back for you someday.

Vallow understood the hope that I did not voice – she understood the vanity of returning to such a horrid, alarming place ever again.

"Thank you."

We broke eye contact after a moment and she resumed scrubbing while I, once again, anticipated the future.

**-E-**

I began the disquieting ritual of counting lasts.

My last chores as a slave.

The last sputtering scoffs whenever I did something inappropriate – like have a dust fight with Vallow (a fight which she did not condone and only participated in because I infuriated her into retaliating) (I had to sweep up the dust by myself) in the hallways or sticking my tongue out at Amelia's back.

_I can't wait until the day I can do it to your face – and then beat the shit out of you afterwards._

Last splinter from the handle of the wretched broom.

Last glare at said broom for gracing me with a damned splinter.

My excitement grew with every noteworthy addition to my list.

It grew difficult to concentrate on anything else as my excitement peaked. Magic twinged in my fingertips with my elation, a conflagration that would not have to be contained for another day.

_Maker damn, it will feel good to let go for a while_.

I sort of hoped we would be attacked on the way to Marnus Pell so I would have a reason to cast and conjure – despite my worries that Fenris would not accept me as a mage.

_I'll offer to tutor his sister the way Father taught me._

Only without the laughter and cheap tricks_._

I sighed. Outside, I could feel the rolling heat of the approaching noon baking my pale skin as I tended to the animals.

No one had been officially designated to take up where Kornyn had left off; the beasts residing in the slim pasture didn't take well to me, but I led them around and made certain they were being fed and watered.

I wondered if Father still existed in this time – I could sorely use his advice. On magic, Fenris – and the possible future.

Or futures.

For all of his miserable jokes, he was a powerful mage and insightful teacher; he had never turned me away whenever I had come to him with an honest cry.

The insect song in the air dipped, and I felt my magic tremble within me.

"_With luck and training, you and Bethany will be able to control your magic and cast at will."_

_"Mother says we shouldn't rely on luck."_

_"If the Hawkes weren't lucky, we would all be abominations, Pup."_

_"Daddy!"_

_"Raaaaah, I'm going to eat your soul!"_

I rubbed my forehead, doubting that Varania would enjoy the same teaching methods.

But Fenris and Fausta would return soon, and lunch had to be served early for the slaves so we would have our needs out of the way for the day.

I stood, my bare feet stinging against the hard, hot sand. I tried to make a mental list of what to experience with Fenris once we were free, but the thoughts fizzled and died when I laid eyes on Pana as she stood waiting for me at the back entrance to the estate.

Brave, sweet Pana with round, sad eyes and drooping shoulders. She dejectedly took my offered hand and together we made our meek way to the room of the estate where the slaves dined.

A melancholy, bittersweet feeling clung in my chest as I sat down to eat my final meal at house Fausta. Pana stuck directly to my side, unwavering and sweet, clutching my hand tightly in hers.

The weight in my chest grew heavier – though this time, it was not panic that wore upon me, but regret.

I doubted that I would ever feel happy about leaving my little mage behind.

We sat together, and I knew that she had been dwelling upon my imminent departure. I offered her my food, and she politely declined.

She never rejected extra food.

I picked at my roll, watching as a few other slaves choked their food down, left quickly, and were soon replaced by others.

"You'll remember not to be obvious about your magic?" I finally asked anxiously, worrying over her.

Pana nodded solemnly, not raising her eyes from her cup.

"And not to steal cookies? Or break any of Fausta's possessions? And please –"

A familiar voice sighed as a wooden bowl was set beside mine. "She has lived nearly her entire life within this mansion as a slave," Fenris said, flickering his eyes to Pana and struggling to keep a straight face as we stared at him. "She does not need your coddling."

I ran my fingers down the prominent crack in our table – the only table in the room. I frowned at it as I contemplated what to say. _I missed you; How was your morning; Why are you covered in bruises? _"I love this girl, Fen. I just don't want anything bad to happen to her."

Pana tucked further into my side, grabbing my hand again with her free one while she quietly ate her meal. I looked Fenris over, examining the dark blue discolorations covering his arms. He caught my line of sight and stuck his arms beneath the table. I squinted at him, knowing I would confront him later and wondering what had happened while he was away.

I noticed he still donned the leather armor – and I was almost certain the leather had more rips and bloodstains than it had earlier that morning, but Fenris himself did not appear to have any injuries.

I peered suspiciously up at him. He didn't meet my eyes.

"Is it so hard to understand?" I muttered, noticing a thin slice of crusty blood spanning across his neck. I inhaled and frowned harder, glaring questioningly at Fenris.

_The fuck have you been up to?_

His meal went untouched and he continued avoiding my gaze. "No, I suppose it isn't," he said gravely as a shadow darkened our cracked table. We collectively raised our heads to see Vallow waver, bun and bowl in hand.

"Sit," I offered, nodding my head at the bench across the table. Her skinny ass slid in without discomfort, and I wrapped an arm around Pana, playing with her long hair and trying to dismiss my moody feelings.

_Was it something with his family?_

_Was it something with us?_

_Did he just pick a fight with the wrong person?_

_He's still alive – be thankful for that._

His face was lit by a dry, rueful smile as he stared down at the table. "The guard has officially kicked me out of their roster, as we are both departing this evening. I am not welcome to patrol the estate any longer."

A breath hitched, and I tightened my arm around Pana comfortingly. _I'll miss you, too, babe._

"Where are you intending to go?" Vallow asked in a low monotone before taking a large bite out of her roll and washing it directly down with whatever shit was in the bowl.

"South," I answered. "To the Free Marches. Our best bet will be to head south on foot and try to earn coin along the way. I'll not chance a trip to Minrathous."

_That's just asking for trouble._

"I'm glad you are so sure," Fenris said beside me, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckled. "I'm shaking in my boots, I swear," I said, wiggling my bare toes against his ankle. Pana buried her face into my shoulder and I knew that something had to be done. I pushed my almost-full bowl and barely bitten biscuit across the table to Vallow in offering and wrapped my other arm around Pana.

"We'll be back," I murmured to Vallow and Fenris as I stood, pulling my little mage up with me.

If Fausta tried to punish us for skipping lunch or something, I would finally give the bitch a piece of my mind – a punch in the face was long overdue.

Before I knew it, I had us crawling beneath our closet, huddled together as we always did. A glow from the rectangular, small window across the room invaded our space, lighting the tips of her hair and glinting in her tears.

"Oh, sweetie," I cooed, pulling her close. She pushed her nose into my collar and trembled for a few minutes, leaking salty tears onto my skin as I held her in reassurance, my heart aching for her pain.

"I'm sorry," Pana's muffled voice sounded after a while. I laid my cheek on the top of her head. "I'm – happy for-"

"It's okay," I said, stroking across her tiny back. "I'm going to miss you, too." After a few seconds of her sniffles, I pulled back to see her face, streaked with red and wet. "Don't fret, sweetheart; it isn't goodbye forever." I rubbed the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, digging into the most sincere depth of my heart.

"It isn't?" she asked, bottom lip still trembling.

"No," I pulled her close again, squeezing my arms around her shoulders. "You think I could go so long without seeing your sweet face again? I'd die first," I swore, kissing the top of her head. "Fenris and I are leaving to make a life elsewhere; a life where slavery doesn't exist and evil people are not in power. I promise that we'll come back – for you, and Vallow, and anybody else – when it is possible."

"Is it safe out there?" Pana whispered, face full of anxiety. "Will you be safe, so close to the barbarians?"

"Barb-" My eyes widened and I groaned, tickling her sides with my fingers. "Woman, don't talk about my home like that!" She giggled, fighting my attacking fingers and wiggling away. "_Barbarians! _I'll show you a barbari-"

"Marian," issued a quiet voice from the door. We instantly halted our movements and I rolled out from under the closet, nearly bumping my head on one of the wooden legs in the process. "It's time to get back to work." Vallow ushered us forward, and I helped Pana up first, letting her dart quickly through the door before I grasped Vallow's forearm.

I pulled her into the room and shut the door, making sure we wouldn't be overheard.

Vallow widened her eyes in alarm when I didn't relinquish her limb.

"Take care of her," I implored seriously, finally releasing her. "When I can't."

Vallow squinted at me; she eventually began to nod, not taking her eyes off of me as I passed her and resumed my routine, feeling some of the weight in my chest break apart and drift into hollowness.

**-E-**

Fenris was cleaning and sharpening knives when I saw him next. I smiled when he looked up from his seated position on the floor of the weapons room – the room where the guards typically geared up for their duty. I had cleaned the leather armor he had worn, using the time to scrutinize every inch of the torn fabric.

What I found troubled me, but I knew that Fenris had not been injured on his outing – at least, not drastically injured. A few bruises and a cut or two indicated that he _had_, in fact, been in a fight – or punished - while he had been out escorting the Magister.

There were thin slices in the armor – and distressing blood splatters around the cut area. I was unsure when it had happened – they appeared fresh, but I couldn't exactly remember if I had seen them on the leather when he had departed.

The feeling of not knowing what had happened nagged at me.

"Hey," I greeted as he continued sliding a knife across the whetstone. He nodded in acknowledgement, never taking his eyes off the angle of the knife. I placed the armor on a rack that held the other leathers; the rack across the room held the thick metals that the paid guards wore when there was an imminent threat.

_Like the night I bested the assassin_, I thought, remembering that for a week after the assassin had appeared the guards on active duty wore the plated armor instead of their regular leathers.

And then there was Fenris, who, as a slave, hardly ever wore armor at all.

"Did your mother and sister attack you?" I asked with an arched brow. Fenris looked up at me, confused, and I nodded at the abandoned, ripped –yet clean - leather.

_Someone will eventually patch it up._

He exhaled. "No."

The knife resumed its gliding over the stone.

I approached until I was standing over him, looking straight down at his position on the floor. "What's wrong?" I asked him for the second time in twenty-four hours.

_Why do both Fenris's insist on being so...so..._

_Broody?_

"Nothing," he lied with a hefty sigh, discarding the razor sharp weapon and hunching over onto his knee. My womens' intuition wouldn't allow me to believe him. His forehead bumped my hip; I lifted my hand, running my fingers through his dark hair in what I hoped was a soothing fashion.

"Are you hurt?" I had to ask; the sight of the ripped leather, his bruised skin, had me nervous for him.

"I'm fine," Fenris answered, and my hand drifted to cradle his jaw. His eyes rose to mine when I manipulated him to look upward.

"But are you hurt?" I pressed, running my gaze over his face, hoping that he would not lie to me again.

He read the intensity in my voice correctly. "Nothing serious," he grudgingly said, pressing his face into my lower belly. "You are aggravatingly stubborn."

"I know." I smiled again, but the happiness dimmed after a moment as I resumed stroking his scalp. "I just care. I don't wish to see you in pain."

"Do you?" he asked suddenly, snapping his head up and poking me in the belly with his chiseled chin.

"Do I not wish to see you in pain?" I asked, bewildered. "Of course I do."

"No," Fenris said, eyes blazing into mine. "Do you care?"

I blinked in surprise. "Of course I do," I said, a little bit hurt. I trailed a finger over his ear and then down his cheek, ending with a rub of my thumb over his bottom lip. "I care a lot about you, Fenris. What would make you think otherwise?"

He stood abruptly, making me stumble back a step. He caught my waist, tugging me forward and pulling me immediately into an amorous kiss; I squeaked at the sudden feeling of a wet, hot mouth on mine, prying my lips apart and forcing me onto my toes.

_Oh my_; my heart thundered in my chest when I felt his hand caress the small of my back, bowing me against his impressive height. The top of my back pressed against the wall before I was even aware that he had been steadily walking me backwards, his demanding lips consuming and burning up my higher thought processes.

His hand trailed from my hip and played around the top of my thigh before grasping my leg and pulling it upwards; I moaned when I felt him press against me, hard and thrusting and _Maker why is my frock hiked up so indecently?_

I broke away for air, shivering as his mouth pressed heat down to the corner of my jaw; a draft hit the tops of my bare legs and my bottom and I realized just _how _exposed I was.

My hands tangled in his hair and he hoisted me up, letting me wrap my legs around his hips as he thrust into me again, making us both groan with the greater contact. My head fell to the wall with a muted _thump_, and I knew that I was leaving a wet spot on his cloth pants – I also knew that neither of us cared; his mouth met mine again as he continued his thrusting, growing harder against me and pressing in the most delicious way.

I gasped his name and Fenris bit at the skin beneath my jaw, making me shudder and moan again. One of his hands cupped the curve of my bottom, kneading the flesh and pressing me into him in time with his small thrusts and I slowly began the aching climb-

"_Ahem_."

Fenris jerked away reflexively and I crashed onto the floor – biting my lip and bruising my bottom – with an _oof!_

I tried to brush off the sudden pain, looking dizzily to the door to see who had interrupted our escapade.

Svanna looked on disapprovingly as Fenris kneeled quickly – apologetically – to assist me. A blush coursed across his face and he wouldn't look in my direction.

I realized why when he helped me stand and my smock fell back into place.

Then _I _blushed.

"Leto," Svanna said sharply as I stared at the floor, licking the taste of him – and a bit of blood – from my bottom lip. "The Mistress is expecting you in her study."

Fenris nodded. With one more glare at the both of us, Svanna departed.

I exhaled in a gust, gazing askance at Fenris. When I spotted him glancing at me in the same fashion, I bit my lip to hide my embarrassed laughter.

"Ow," I complained when I felt the small tear on my lip. Fenris leaned over and kissed my tiny bite wound gently, pulling back with a sheepish grin. "What got into you?"

He shrugged, properly abashed. I pulled him into a hug, wrapping my arms snuggly around his waist.

"I should tell you how much I care more often," I said with a smile, kissing the cloth over his heart. His arms tightened around my back.

"I need to go," he said regretfully, his chin resting on top of my head.

"I know," I responded, releasing him. "I'll see you soon."

Fenris sighed as he turned to exit the door.

"And Fenris?"

He paused, half turning to look over his shoulder.

"You mean a lot to me," I said, feeling bashful and red. A cute smile lit the half of his face that I could see before he left, quietly shutting the door behind him.

I gave him an entire fifty second head start before I took off after him.

**-E?-**

I reminded myself to thank Vallow for showing me her little peep hole – the slot in the room right beside the Magister's study. I couldn't tell what exactly it was for – I had previously thought it was a slot for letters, but it looked more like a vent that would be found in a bathing room.

_Perhaps its use is to be a vent for poison gas_, I assumed. The wall was quite thin, however; if there were ever poison in that room, as a mage, I would just blast my way through a wall before I relied upon a tiny vent to keep me alive.

Fenris was blocking my view of Fausta; he stood straight, almost directly in front of the hole where I peeked. I shamelessly ogled the muscles of his back, grateful that I was alone in the dark room.

Quill scratched across parchment – the only sound in the room for the next five minutes, at least.

_What are they waiting for?_

It didn't even seem like she had acknowledged his presence; yet there he stood, erect and proper, waiting.

Waiting.

Hesitant fingers rapped on the door; my heart jumped at the sudden break in the silence, and I had to work hard to keep my breathing even. I tried to maneuver around to see the door, but damn it, Fenris's shoulder was in the way.

I wished that I could just _whisper _to Fenris and ask what in the Black City he was doing.

"Enter," Fausta said tersely, rubbing her temple.

A door opened, and someone stepped inside.

"A magister is here to see you, Mistress," Svanna's voice said respectfully.

I almost exhaled in relief; Fausta probably wanted to show Fenris off.

Or something.

_Maker damned fickle magisters; how am I supposed to know_?

_She's so cranky over her financial situation, it's a wonder how she has any friends at all._

_There you go, bitch._

"Bring him up," Fausta snapped, and I started to back away from my peep hole.

_I could be found at any moment – I would hate to jeopardize our chance at freedom._

Curiosity killed the Hawke.

I was slowly inching away from the wall when Svanna spoke again. "He followed me up, Mistress." There was a creaking sound of the door opening wider. "Master Danarius."

_Fuck!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>What other BioWare games have you played?<strong>

**Yes! Woo! This freaking chapter is FINALLY FINISHED! –fistpumpairguitarexplosion-**

**It only took me, like, two months. -.-**


	15. Outtake 1: Leto

**Takes place around chapter 9 and 10, starting after Fenris whipped Marian and was punished.**

Outtake 1  
><strong>Leto<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I caught a fleeting glimpse<br>Out of the corner of my eye  
>I turned to look but it was gone<br>I cannot put my finger on it now  
>The child is grown,<br>The dream is gone.  
>I have become comfortably numb.<em>

-Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb

* * *

><p>The sun waned high; the sand rasped his cheek as he coughed against the ground, his muscles screaming with tension and compounded aches. Blood dribbled over his lips as he grimaced and forced his elbows beneath him, lightly scraping the skin of his arms as he attempted to rise.<p>

Burning, red light heated his face through unkempt brown hair; a bead of sweat dripped from the straight, narrow bridge of his nose to the ground and his vision wavered as he felt his skin simmer with heat.

A brown, bare foot, seemingly made from steel, slammed into his ribs, forcing the air straight from his lungs and sending Leto sprawling onto his back a few feet away. He gritted his teeth, making no sound and enduring the burning pain on his back, trying to calm his racing heart and focus his meandering line of thought.

He rolled before the next kick could find purchase, barely avoiding the other gasping, wounded man.

It had been a long, tiresome battle; he and the other man had been the only slaves out of ten to survive the slaughter so far, and his Mistress watched with an impassive gaze from a shaded alcove to his left. The magisters had long since grown bored with the spectacle, preferring to chat and dine pleasantly, while Leto himself could only grow wearier.

The man, a giant of a human belonging to one of the magisters, had bested the other guards along with Leto during the battle in an effort to humor the magisters' blood lust. Leto had so far managed to deliver a fine slice to the man's temple with his blunted, crusty fingernail, but his reserve of energy had evaporated long ago; he spat blood to the ground and rose unsteadily to his feet, the flaming light in his eyes winking away with each ragged inhale.

"Elf," the man grunted in a curving, foreign accent, "Just stay down." The human lunged forward. Leto dove left, driving a kick into the hard side of the human and succeeding in jolting his own leg to the hip, trembling bone and driving a kink into his knee - it was like striking rock; the human in return elbowed Leto in the nose.

Leto sighed as effort seeped out of him like sweat, leaking away hope as his side of the battle deteriorated quickly – his mind fogged and he felt his body tip as it was flooded with a disheartening, dizzy sensation from the recent attack. He was pushed away, sliding across the rough sand that rubbed fire into the bottoms of his feet.

_Just make it quick_, he pleaded in his mind, closing his eyes against the flying dust and surrendering the last of his fight.

He startled himself when he did not see the familiar red glow of the Tevinter sun through the back of his eyelids – rather, he saw a rumpled human girl with a disheveled mass of inky hair and a disparaging look hardening her expression.

"_You need to take better care of yourself,"_ the girl admonished, her pink lips curling in that knowing, confident smile that seemed to linger on her face in the most inappropriate of times. _"You have more than just yourself to think of, after all."_

A fist collided with the edge of his face and sent him sprawling yet again, his head and shoulder blade crashing hard against the ground. He was oddly discomforted by the appearance of the human woman in his mind's eye; her pale, pointed chin rose in an unspoken challenge that he did not yet know how to respond to.

A kick to his ribs had him coughing more blood, leaking it onto the golden dirt. He clenched his eyes and mouth, swallowing blood and fisting sand. His bruised ribs, shoulders, hips, limbs – all of them ached fiercely.

He concentrated on his internal actions; her face fell as she recognized that he was in the process of finally surrendering. Bushy, soiled bangs blocked her cloudy blue eyes, and he found that he missed the view; he swiped the back of his hand over his split lip, the sand on his knuckles stinging the open wound.

_What does the human know of sacrifice? Of servitude?_

"_Slavery_," she corrected in his mind. Blood coagulated in the pit of his throat and he coughed, choking and rolling away from the next kick weakly, preparing for impact. He could hear the human's heavy breaths above him, could sense that the sun was being blocked by his massive form.

"Forgive me, elf," the human hissed gruffly, raising his foot over Leto's face, blocking much of his sight. "Pray to the Maker for guidance in the afterlife."

A clear soprano worried his mind, pushing him to move, to survive.

_"You would let someone do you in like this, Fenris?_

_"Not even going to say goodbye, then?"_

Leto ignored the jabs, feeling his bones creak and tire. On his back, he raised himself to his elbows again, only to be carelessly kicked in the shoulder, hearing one of his bones crack. The shooting pain distracted him from the vision beneath his eyelids, and he scrabbled away, rising to his knees once he was a good distance from the human. His eyes burned from the harsh light of the sun, his brown skin glistened with a fine mist of blood and heated sweat.

Leto didn't have much to fight for – not anymore.

His mother and sister had long since given up on him – when he visited, their eyes were disconnected and distant, sliding away from him as soon as he appeared. His promises to return were met with indifferent responses that cracked his resilient heart, flaying his hopes like a dead fish.

He was no more than an object, a plaything for the magisters who possessed him; he was born a slave, he would die a slave, with none to mourn his passing.

_"That's not true, Fen,_" the human woman in his head argued, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout. He gasped in a breath when he realized he hadn't been breathing at all in the last few moments. "_You are _more _than that."_

He rolled shakily away and onto his knees, coughing raggedly, his throat scratching sorely. _I am nothing._

"_You're something to me."_

The sun was blocked again; he threw himself forward and away from the human's next attack, holding the swell of Marian's unreal – but all too real – words in his chest, bracing himself with internal armor.

Leto ably dodged the next punch thrown at him, his left arm nearly useless – he could hear the bone snap with each jerky movement he made.

"_Please don't let yourself die."_

He could not explain to himself why his mind had conjured the shifty human, of all people, to convince himself to survive.

Was it because of her intoxicating familiarity with him?

Was it because she had been the only human – the only _person_– to break past the surface of him in so many years? To wriggle her way – only partially rejected – so far into the core of his being, that he would even think of her in what he believed to be his final moments?

_She is a woman too good for this sort of life_, Leto thought to himself as he reached a breath of clarity. Glancing about his surroundings, he found a crude weapon in the form of a thick, blunt rock not far away from where he stood on unstable feet. _Rash, merciful, forgiving – her faults, her weaknesses._

Imperfections made perfect.

He heard the man panting, growing closer and then barreling into his side. Leto groaned when he hit the ground, the human atop him, sweaty and heavy. He grasped and pulled, trying to slip from under the hulking body that straddled his burning back, trying to suffocate him.

He cried out, feeling the raw pain from the mage-inflicted wounds that had been delivered by his Mistress as punishment hours –however many - before. He growled deeply within his lungs, fighting with that fury, that pain, with the memory of Marian slipping into a warm, sticky pool with stripes ripped into her back.

Leto elbowed the man in the face and kicked his ankle out from under him, sliding away and closer to the medium-sized rock. He palmed it and then threw himself back onto the human, pushing the man onto his back.

He slammed the sharpest corner of the rock into the man's temple, begging for the fight to be finished so he could finally rest. He was unsure if this trial was punishment for defying his Mistress or merely his duty for being an enslaved guard; he was only positive that killing this final man would relinquish him from his immediate woes.

His heart pounding and his eyes unfocused, he did not stop beating the man until a magister called him off – he could not recount how many times the Neanderthal weapon struck the man's cranium, only that had been _enough _and the fight was _done_. Leto's skin was slick with gore and grey matter, boiling him alive with the added heat.

He feared he would die from the imprisoning warmth, but Leto was quickly ushered from the sandbox and out of the unforgiving desert sun once it was clear that he had won the day.

There was hardly a fuss; even the owner of the great beast of a man did not appear to care for his forfeited prize. A few of the apprentices were set to heal Leto, mending his shattered shoulder and seaming his ribs back together effortlessly, as well as repairing the surface damage in the form of bruises and welts. They snapped a tooth back in – he had not even realized he had lost one, the sensation trivial in a sea of pain – and soothed the purple and green blemishes as well as the blisters of the Mistress' fury away.

They could not take away the weary creaking of his bones.

Leto recognized that he was a fool – but a living fool. One that the resilient, pretty Marian could play like a lute, so should she choose.

_"Promise me that we will get out of here."_

A promise from a man who owned nothing would very likely _mean _nothing, but he could not deny the tremor of hope that came when her eyes gleamed so passionately up at him.

Pride, as well.

It could not be denied that the human cared for him – possibly more than his own meager family did. He felt a fierce protectiveness because of that truth, a possessiveness that he, as a slave, had no right to feel.

Yet he did.

He desired to be _worth _her precious affection, to be a man worthy of being in her presence.

How could he possibly have considered _giving up_? He shuddered as the final apprentice's hands were removed from his skin, leaving him to be alone and whole. He was seated more than a few yards away from the magisters to recover, awaiting what would come. The shaded section that he was left in was a blessing in the fiery heat of the afternoon; his baggy shirt had long since been ripped away, and he wondered if he would ever be granted another.

It was far past a time for eating when another slave presented a tidy meal for him to consume – a reward for being victorious - and though he experienced no such triumph, his stomach was grateful for the offering. The other slaves – the guards and petty manservants that were not tested in combat - went without as they cleaned up the waste of lives that littered the battle ground.

He felt no sorrow, no grievance. He had been the only combatant to walk away with his life; pride was not a word he associated with the afternoon, only _relief_ and _gratitude_.

He had been replenished with fortitude, and owed his life to a lifetime of training and honing his fighting skills.

_And one inspirational girl._

He ate in silence, picking at his food, his stomach churning each time he spied the smears of blood and matter on his fingers. Each bite was tainted with the coppery flavor of spilt blood, each swallow a gagging challenge.

He bowed his head respectfully as a stray magister leisurely approached, receding away from the separately shaded section and stepping into the area where Leto sat polishing off his meal. He prayed that none of the magisters would require more of him for the remainder of the day, and that this one man was only curious.

"Your name," the man stated, cocking his weight onto one leg. One hand crossed his chest to lie in the crook of his opposite elbow, while the other delicately held the stem of a glinting wine glass.

"Leto," he answered as commanded, staring at the hem of the mage's robes respectfully.

"Leto," the magister said, his mouth curling around the vowels of his name. "You have impressed me today, boy," he congratulated, walking around him lazily. Leto could feel his skin prick as the magister trailed his eyes across him. "How would you feel if I made you an offer, Leto?"

It was a commodity for a magister to refer to him by name; yet Leto knew his place. "I exist to serve my Mistress," Leto responded flatly, not lifting his bowed head.

The man laughed. "Indeed," he said, traces of humor in his voice. "But I doubt the Madame Fausta would refuse me."

To this, Leto said nothing. His brown hair dripped with sweat, and all he could manage to wish for was a tub of water. His green eyes picked apart the sand beneath his legs, stained red and dark with the liquid seeping off of his skin.

"Loyal," the man murmured, still stepping around Leto. He trailed his fingers across the broad expanse of his shoulders – marveling at how thick and sinewy his body was, for an elf. "Resourceful." He swiped the exposed skin above the collar of his shirt, pulling his fingers away coated in sweat. "Beautiful. What a lovely body guard you make."

"I exist to serve my Mistress," he repeated, trying to ignore the mage and hoping idly he would be permitted a restful night unbroken by guard duty in recompense for his strenuous battle.

"I'm sure there is more to your existence than that," the man pressed, rubbing his hand across the back of Leto's smooth, dark and sweaty hair. "Is there nothing you desire? Fausta informed me that you have a mother and sister – would you wish to have them freed?"

Leto's chin wrenched upward in order to look the man in the eye, a jerky, surprised and disrespectful movement triggered at his words.

"Or the romance with the human," the man purred, rubbing Leto's cheek affectionately with the back of his hand. "I could have her freed, as well."

Leto's eyes widened, and he could feel the stale air entering his gaping mouth as he absorbed what the mage was offering. His own eyes darted in between the magister's, trying to ascertain how honest his words were.

"Lord Danarius," called one of the other magisters. "You can speak with the elf later – we have much to propose!"

"Unless you would rather spend the evening with the bloody slave," another jested, causing a few of the women to titter with laughter.

Danarius offered them a patient smile before returning his attention to the slave, a threatening, ominous glint in his eye.

The man wanted Leto; he could see the greed in the twitch of his eye, the curl of his fingers on the back of his head.

"Consider it, boy," he ordered, dropping his hand. "I will not be so generous with my offerings in the future."

Internally shaken by the brief confrontation, his mind raced.

_This is what she has been wanting._

What will he do to me if I accept?

What will happen if I do not?

The magister departed, and Leto felt his heart quiver in his chest as he imagined telling Marian of this possibility.

_Will she be happy?  
><em>  
><strong>-L-<strong>

She was asleep when he returned, still recovering from her injuries – injuries that he had bitten into her skin with strikes from a deadly whip. It was a miracle that she was so far healed; she must have been taken pity upon and given a healing potion to smooth along the process. He sighed as he stared at her relaxed face, remembering that it was _she _who convinced him to live, to fight.

_"You're something to me."_

_Am I really? _he thought wryly, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew it was his mind that had conjured the words, but he could not help but wonder if they were true.

Master Danarius had spoken of freeing his mother, his sister, and Marian; he had said nothing of freeing Leto, or even what Leto would be surrendering for those freedoms – only that he was an admirable bodyguard.

Staring at Marian's prone form on the slim cot, he made up his mind.

He would do what he could to have her freed – to have her be what she _should _be, a free, wandering spirit with an ample amount of smiles and laughter in her life. His heart ached as he contemplated how lonesome he would be without her – but he had endured loneliness before and he would do so again, comforted by her memory and the thought of her living a life unchained and happy.

He almost smiled when he thought of the adventures she would likely have beyond the walls of the prison in which they were confined; he had never been the "dreamer" sort of person, but it would be all too simple for him to imagine himself at her side, experiencing the world with the woman who had shown him that there was something more for him to live for – to be with her dancing, and laughing, and loving, and experiencing.

But she would experience with someone else.

That was the most difficult part – it was easy for him to imagine her out there, being free and happy, but his chest grew tight when he thought of her smiling, laughing with someone else. Someone other than him – a free, worldly man who was worthy of her smiles and tender kisses.

He wondered when he had grown so attached to her; Leto had no problem picturing his mother and sister free and moving on.

_It has been so long since I cared about anything at all,_ he mused, brushing black bangs from her forehead. _Is this what love is?_

He hated the feeling, yet embraced it, recognizing that he may never feel it again. The vulnerability he felt in her presence was a crushing vice around his neck, tightening the longer he lingered by her side watching her sleep – broken and ripped apart.

Leto would not stand for such brutalities against her again. It horrified him, angered him, weakened him.

He had always heard that if you love something, you let it go.

He would let her go.

He would live the life of slavery for her – he would endure the hardships that she had no right to bear, and hope that she would forget about him and the life she would leave behind.

_She will move away and be happy,_ Leto comforted himself, trailing his finger down her pale cheek. _That will suffice. She is smart, and has never truly been a slave. Not on the inside. Not like us.  
><em>  
>He sat at her bedside with a heavy sigh, crossing his legs on the floor. He stared hard at the bandages on her back, remembering the sharp, unforgiving pain of Mistress Fausta's magic burning into his own.<p>

Leto could handle pain.

But Fausta had no right to hurt something as beautiful as Marian.

"Mages," he grumbled with spite, pondering the pain they inflicted, the ownership they demanded, and the greed they bore. Hateful, powerful, and disgusting.

_Nothing at all like Marian_, Leto thought as he stared at the floor.

"Fenris?" whispered a groggy, muffled voice. Leto snapped his head up when she shifted and yawned, the mild irritation he had felt before when she called him _Fenris _all but nonexistent. "When…" she moaned lightly, stretching her toes. "When did you get here?"

When her eyes lit up at Leto's unsure declaration, when she grinned and clutched his hand in her own, his heart warmed.

_I'll try. For you._

_Because you're something to me, too_.

**-L-**

When he next saw Danarius, it was a venue similar to the last. He was forced to kill four other body guards, some he had known - known as one passerby of the same profession "knows" another. They were men and women that he had all fought, at some point, but never ordered to kill.

Danarius' sharp, penetrating blue eyes lithely followed every step he made, tracing the outline of his shape as he bent and bowed with the eddies of combat. Leto found it hard to be ashamed of the attention, seeing as he had inadvertently asked for it by accepting Danarius' proposal.

Still, the constant watchful, greedy gaze of the magister unsettled him.

It was after that battle that he made his intentions clear – Leto was to fight for Danarius, to compete against others of various skill levels. If he performed adequately, those whom he cared about would be bought their freedom and he would become Danarius' most treasured body guard – a highly sought position.

As the battles grew with intensity, he even began having to wear scrappy leather armor to match his opponents – with the blessing of his proud Mistress, who, while not wishing to provoke the ire of Danarius, enjoyed showing off the guard at her disposal.

He sometimes even chanced glimpses of his red haired family, when the competitions grew in intensity and popularity, drawing the attention of Magister Numos and his flock.

He had never felt so buoyant in his life, even as he slaughtered other guards and hopefuls, always receiving medical care and food after each fight.

Meanwhile, he soaked up as much time with the human girl as he could, knowing that the moment of their parting was quickly approaching in bittersweet fashion. He sought out the soothing softness of her hands, the gentle curve of her voice, the comfort of her embrace even as she managed to infuriate and irritate him.

He craved her touch in their quiet moments, even as he realized that his avarice would possibly spoil her first few days of freedom. Marian was not an evil nor malicious woman; she would not take kindly to his sacrifice.

Leto's desires contradicted in that respect; part of him wanted her to leave and be content – the other part wanted her to want _him_.

He cursed himself and his glutton for her affection.

He was also quite certain that she was insane, but he cherished her in spite of – or because of – that fact.

**-L-**

He had fought every day; challenging his endurance in ways it had never been tested before. There were always new opponents; new rivals competing for the freedom of his or her loved ones or the coveted position as Magister Danarius' bodyguard. The marks on the surface of his skin after a hard battle were typically healed away by magic, and for that he was thankful.

Leto could sometimes feel her eyes on him when he was in the mansion; he was glad that she did not see the full face of his choice of suffering – he did not want his decision to weigh upon her as it did him.

One day, at the expense of inspiring anger in his Mistress, he plucked a flower.

It was a small thing – pink, delicate, and soft. It reminded him of her.

He blushed when he stowed it out of sight, hoping that his weakness would not show on his face. He remembered a story of a suitor that Marian had spoken of; an elf who had never given her any courting gifts.

While Leto acknowledged that he could not officially court her, he wanted to give her something – something other than his remote protection.

She had already given him so much with her unconditional acceptance; it was the very least that he could do for her with the expense of being trite.

But she loved his gift, and when she graced him with kisses, planning their life in the future, thinking of days where they did not have to part, he went along with her fantasy.

It was selfish and cruel of him to mislead her, allowing her to believe that he would be joining her on her journey, but Leto needed the fiction to tide him over until a time when she was gone and he had nothing again.

The only thing that had ever given Leto drive was the thought of seeing his mother and sister almost annually, and even that purpose for living was drying out as the years dragged past.

He had only survived life so far because his Mistress – or Master – wished for him to continue to exist.

Hardly an attribute to boast about.

He contemplated telling her so many times – almost told her that, when the time came, he would leave with Danarius and she would leave alone.

He never could; he was too scared that she would be angry, or worse, _happy_. It would be better to keep his secret to himself; when he had to part, he would part, and she would be none the wiser about the transaction.

Leto dreaded the day; hating the inevitable moment when he would be taken away.

He would never see Marian or his family again.

He would never be _Fenris _again.

The depression grew bone-deep. He hoped that Danarius would remain true to his word.

Living as a slave so that Marian, his mother, and Varania could be free -

That was an existence he that could take pride in.

* * *

><p><strong>I know these are posted closely together, but I really like reading the responses to my questions so here is another one:<strong>

**While canon Hawke is a gorgeous Hawke, I know a lot of people played with their own custom Hawke. What did _your_ Hawke look like?**

**Also, are there any other outtakes you would like to possibly read?**

**(That is, if there is anybody still reading, of course.)**


	16. 13 The Beggar

**QUICK! LOOK NOW.  
>HOW AWESOME IS MY NEW PICTURE?<br>AWESOME, RIGHT?  
>EkoCentric drew it.<br>Because **_**uber talent**_**.****  
><strong>**GO CHECK IT OUT BIG AND PRETTY HERE:**

**ekocentric . deviantart. (c o m) / art/Commission-Anachronism-315097889**

**^But but but without the spaces.**

**And the parentheses.**

**GO. LIKE A NINJA. ****TELL EKOCENTRIC HOW AWESOME IT IS.**

**And I am so, so sorry for taking so long for an update. :C You can hit me if you like. –bows head-**

**Answers to the last questions: There was a handful of people that use the canon image for female Hawke, like I do – at least for my stories – however, most people seem to enjoy giving their Lady Hawke lovely red hair and green eyes – or dark hair and blue eyes****.**** All female Hawkes sound pretty epic to me, but I'm biased on her.**

* * *

><p><em>Recap – Fenris had finally won enough competitions to achieve his goal – free Marian and his family. Marian Hawke, having no clue as to what he was up to, was under the impression that they were about to all be freed – she has been busy planning their life together as a free couple. After some sweet, affectionate times together, Fenris and the mage Marian face even greater trials as none other than Danarius shows up in an evil cliff hanger that has hovered over the DA fanfic world for far too long.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.<em>_  
><em>_ –Dr. Seuss_

* * *

><p><em><strong>13. The Beggar<strong>_

My heart began to pound; I glued myself to the vent, my eyes stretching wide as I tried to catch a glimpse of the dreaded Magister Danarius.

I couldn't see him from where I was - Fenris blocked my view – but I could hear him. His steps were surefooted, the taps infrequent as he meandered into the room.

_Danarius is here._

Danarius is here.

Shock overloaded my thoughts – no two thoughts could be strung together without being immediately shattered in half.

After a few moments of flattening, intense silence, I finally concentrated on calming my racing heart.

"-papers already signed," a man's voice was saying; the sound of it unsettled me, sliding around the room like lukewarm grease, slicking into my ears. "All that is left is your signature and I'll be taking my newest guard."

My hands trembled until they formed fists; steel settled into my jaw until I heard my teeth grinding together._Fenris._ He was the only person in the room other than the two magisters. Danarius had to be speaking of him; who else could he be referring to?_There's been a mistake__,_ I thought, eyes flickering across every inch of the room that I could see, searching for another guard. _This wasn't the plan._

Danarius laid something on Fausta's desk; I could barely see the top of his head over Fenris's shoulder as I peered through the vent.

Sweat dripped down the back of my neck, sliding beneath the scrap of clothing I wore.

Fenris wasn't objecting to the knowledge that Danarius was taking him.

_Fenris._

I almost heard my heart crack. _You knew about this?_

I wanted to beat my head against the wall for being so blind. _Why?_

_Why did I think that planning anything with Fenris would work?_

"Not even going to treat me to a drink before you rob me of the rest of my slaves?" Fausta asked shrewdly as the quill resumed scratching over paper.

"It is a generous trade, on my part. Compassion guides me to pay far more than they are both worth."

Fausta tsked. "Do not try to mislead me, Danarius; I've allowed your little competitions to continue. I know well what my Leto is worth."

"_My_Leto is worth plenty." His coy words made me tense. "But in your incompetent hands."

My hands trembled again – with anger.  
><em><br>_His_ Leto – Andraste's withered ass cheeks__._

Fenris's ears twitched, his head cocking infinitesimally, angling his right ear in my direction.

I tried, in vain, to calm my furious breathing, knowing that he could hear my gasping breath.

_He knows I'm here_.

"Just a moment," Fausta said. Sheets were ruffled and stacked on a desk.

My thoughts were acerbic growls, ringing foul in the hollow knots forming inside of me.  
><em><br>__That elf bastard!_

My hands fisted, sending sparks of magic zinging up my arm.

_Why did he have to lie about this?_

Why didn't he just admit that we couldn't both be freed?

We could have thought of something else – anything else -

Fenris made no further movements. The quill stopped scratching.

_I'm not going to let him do this._

"Come, Leto."

Fenris stepped forward and bowed his head – subservient, willing.

My blood boiled.

Danarius reached out to lay a hand on Fenris and my body jolted forward.

"_No!_" I raged, fire blazing through me, my muscles screaming for action.

All of the pent up, unspent magic erupted within me; in a raging, blinding outburst the wall and vent were rent to rubble, Fausta's desk was upturned, and I had Danarius pinned against the wall in the next instance.

"_Stay away from Fenris!_" I pressed my elbow into his throat as I snarled up into his face, my arm nearly consumed in mage-fire.

_Should I kill him now?_

He wasn't so impressive, all gray hair and gaunt cheeks – I could take him.

The consequences of killing a magister near the heart of the Imperium kept my rage in check – I tried to rationally assess the situation, but found I couldn't look past the blinding fury that pebbled the skin of my back and bent the control I had over my own magic.

Brave hands clamped down over my shoulders, the gauntlets pinching my skin. I released Danarius to elbow one of the guards holding me, my joint _ding_ing against the metal Tevinter helmet he wore. There was a metallic _shink_as the other guard drew his weapon; I turned and blasted him with a force that sent him flying into the far wall and then flung the first guard after him in a pile of metal and busted wood.

Danarius staggered, shrugging his staff from his back; I watched the pile of guards as they groaned and tried to right themselves across the room. I readied myself for another frontal attack, focusing my will.

I couldn't see Fenris – only hoped he wouldn't make a move to attack me.

"Stop, girl!" Fausta shouted, grabbing her own staff. I scowled over my shoulder, baring my teeth at her, daring she make another move.

_They really will think that I'm a Ferelden barbarian._

_I'm not afraid to cut you, bitch._

"A mage slave," Danarius said. I snapped my face back to him, wary as he righted himself and brushed the ashes from his robes. "I thought I sensed another mage or two in our midst." He directed a derisive look at Fausta. "And yet you haven't put your pet on a leash or notified the Senate."

"Soon," Fausta said, glaring at him and whatever he was insinuating.

Danarius chuckled at her demeanor, shifting his weight fluidly – keeping his mage weapon in between himself and I. "When you acquired the funds to pay the fee," he provided.

"Soon," she repeated herself, returning to the paperwork. "I had no idea she was a mage when I bought her," Fausta said. "And now she's free."

"And now she's free," Danarius agreed with a catty smile. "The Senate _does _charge a pretty sum for the privilege of owning a fellow mage." He lifted his hand calmly and my back slammed against the opposite wall; a bright flash of pain bloomed across my shoulders and I smacked soundly against the floor.

My head spun; I heard boots stomping through the door and hands were soon clamping down around my elbows as Fausta's guards responded to the commotion. "Take her away. Kill her if you must," Fausta ordered.

I was strung about like a doll, manhandled between the two guards. Dizzy and unfocused, I did my best to collect my bearings and thrashed against the leather-clad men gripping me.

"Leto, grab my papers, will you?" Danarius instructed indifferently, dusting off his robes.

"I'm sorry for your inconvenience, Lord Danarius..." Fausta said, sounding more irritated than apologetic as she scowled at the remains of her study.

I kicked out, scraping my bare legs across rubble; bleary eyed, I turned my head to stare at Fenris, watching me being dragged away with wide eyes.

_What?_

An expression of staggering confusion invaded his face, edged by burgeoning anger – and I wondered what he was thinking, why he wasn't helping -

_Don't let Danarius take him._Panic rose within me and I cried out, pushing back against Fausta's guards. Danarius's men were on shaky feet again, moving to help restrain me with genuine ferocity. I fought them as they pulled me to the door, kicking and screaming and glowing with turmoil.

"No! Fenris!" I shouted and struggled as they pulled me past the door frame. "I will _not _go!"

"It's time we took our leave," Danarius said shortly. Fenris jumped into action, springing forward and grabbing the papers Danarius had brought – the ones Fausta had signed.

_Stop!_

"Danarius!" I screamed, sending a blistering wave of ice outward from my body, shivering with the ease the cold slipped from my body. It had been too long – too much time without any use of magic, and it was oozing from my pores, flinging out violently and with little force. The men holding me froze instantly – but I was also rendered unable to move. "Stop! _Stop! _I – don't –" My heart stuttered and I furrowed my brow at Fenris, who hadn't made another move since grabbing the papers.

The bearded mage chuckled. "You _are _quite the stubborn one, aren't you?" He glanced at the crippled room, and then the unmoving guards clamping down onto my limbs. He turned to Fausta. "Are you going to let her keep her life?"

"No," she said sharply, glaring at the mess that was – until recently - her office. "I don't believe I will." Her eyes rested on her frozen guards gripping me tightly in an icy embrace, distaste arching her mouth.

_Am I to die here?_

_Die with grace_, a part of me whispered, but I ignored it.

_Pride doesn't warm a bed at night. _The future he would have – the experiences he would endure –

All of it would be my fault. All of his pain, his hatred, his sadness – all of it would be due to me.

My heart wedged into my throat. "Let him go," I begged of Danarius. "Please." _This must be fixed_. "_Please_. Don't – don't take him."  
><em><br>__There must still be a way to fix this._

Danarius laughed again, amused. "She begs – not for her own life, but for his. What a curious morsel you have, Fausta." Boots ambled forward until sweeping, heavy blue robes shifted before my face. "The boy is mine, girl. I will take him."

_He isn't yours._

He'll never be yours.

I thought fast – _how can I get us out of this mess_? I tried to think of words – anything to say, something that would get Danarius to let us both go free.

I couldn't think of any single phrase, quote, or gesture that would be powerful enough to get him to release us. I tried thinking of magics – a spell that could be cast by mouth and sheer will alone that would outsmart both Danarius and Fausta long enough for us to escape – but there was no such spell, not one that would give a magister – let alone _two_– pause.

I looked to Fenris hopelessly – begging him – _please, help me, please, let's escape _– but he didn't meet my eye, casting his gaze to the wall stoically.

I shivered with a bright spark of emotion at the sight of his disregard for my presence; I tried in vain to establish a connection with him, trying to communicate without words – but he refused to turn his head to acknowledge my existence.

Hurt, a single option floated before me – without his cooperation, there was little I could accomplish.

_I will not abandon you to this man, even if you have abandoned me._

I could not see a future where I let Danarius haul Fenris away from me without a fight.

I inhaled deeply, dropping my head in the most submissive form I could take.

"Then _take me with you_," I pleaded. "Please."

"You are a mage." My head snapped up and I met his eye. Smile widening, he raised his chin in a superior gesture. "And a violent slave. Why would I want you, bargain hunter?"

"Because I'm strong," I said, putting all of the passion I could muster into my voice. "Smart. A talented spell caster. I assure you that I am resourceful and well taught."

"And well spoken," he commented, raising a hand. His finger held my chin up higher before releasing me. My head dropped and I stared at the floor.

"You would give up your freedom to not be separated from your – Fenris, was it?"

"Yes," my breath shuddered. "_Yes."_

This wasn't supposed to happen.

_It was_, another voice whispered dispassionately._ You were just trying to change it._

Danarius shifted his eye to Fenris; I wanted to shield him, as if the sizing gaze could burn through flesh.

He would have to burn through me, first.

"Well," Danarius breathed in a sigh. "I can't very well allow your death; I stand by my word, and I gave my new slave the assurance that you would be freed." He smiled, cutting his eyes to Fenris. "He worked so desperately hard to see you freed, as well. It would be a shame for you to throw away his hard work."

_What?_

_What has he _done_?_

"You are becoming quite the expensive addition to my staff," he said to Fenris. Fenris dropped his head, his mouth a thin, straight line.

Danarius sighed, shaking his head at me with a small grin on his face; his icy eyes spoke only of coveting. "Letting you die is such a waste," he said wistfully, his face dropping as he scanned his eyes over me. "But at least I get my..._Fenris._" The slimy smile returned. "What a sweet pet name."

My skin crawled at his tone of voice, at his words. I jerked in the icy hands of my captors, detesting the thought of being away from Fenris, _burned _by the idea of Danarius owning him.

_This isn't how it was supposed to be._

"Take me with you," I begged again, thrusting out my jaw.

"You assume that I desire such an unruly pet," Danarius said coldly, raising an eyebrow; his voice was detached, but his eyes _wanted_.

"Take me," I implored, my voice quivering as I felt a drop of water splash at my hip.

The men were unfreezing – I couldn't tell if they were still alive.

"You are a mage," he scoffed, as if discarding the notion. I saw Fenris twitch out of the corner of my eye. "I will not have you as a slave."

"Then have me as an unpaid servant," I said. "Please."

Danarius closed his eyes, inhaling with a placating smile on his face. He chuckled once. "No, I don't believe I will." He snapped his fingers and the guards thawed and healed instantly, all hard knuckles and unforgiving grips. I was strangled in their arms, hefted as they shook their heads and got their bearings, encircling my arms and legs firmly while I struggled and screamed.

My lungs ached as Fenris ducked his head, refusing to even glance in my direction. I screamed his name; the door frame bruised and battered my skin, a testament to my stubborn nature and the rough handling of my captors.

I had sat silent when I was sold into slavery.

Had remained docile in the face of injustice.

Had not struck out when my friend had been murdered in cold blood, or when suffering through cruel, heartless punishments.I would be _damned_ if I would let Fenris be taken away without a encompassed my vision and power burst through my fingertips once more, sending two of the guards flying in opposite directions. There were dull thuds as they struck the walls; a vase fell from its precarious perch and crashed against the ground, shattering. I froze the last two as before, kicking out of their grasps and crunching their brittle arms off in the process.

Without the guards holding me up, I fell through the air; my front struck the ground hard, hard enough to knock the wind from my lungs, but not hard enough to incapacitate me.

The two unfrozen guards, primed and trained, returned instantly. I rolled to my knees and lashed out with electricity, rejoicing in the feel of all of my pent up power being finally_, finally_released. I felt stronger, more in charge than I had in months as I purged myself of excess magic, inflicting Fausta's guards with lightning, watching the blisters bloom on their visible skin – I was grateful that their armor was not the traditional Tevinter garb; they were tremendously easy targets.

I was also glad that I didn't recognize them.

Each of them fell, churning and writhing on the ground.

I stood as the unfrozen guards swooned and groaned at my feet; for a fleeting moment, I caught my breath and tamed my magic, eyeing the pained guards. I kicked one that had the misfortune of being in my path as I walked back up to Danarius, teeth and hands clenching.

"I will _not_be taken from him." My voice blazed in the quiet of the room, scorching my throat with the raw emotion.

I didn't look at Fenris.

Too sick off of my own anger to risk looking him in the eye and spying his.

Danarius laughed. "Isn't this one interesting?" The malicious twinge hiding in his lips was not encouraging. "Very well; you make a...gripping argument for yourself."

I blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Fausta, I presume you can adjust the papers?" he directed over his shoulder to an irritated, brown-clad woman. Her long, straight hair was in as much disarray as her room – I must have flung her from her desk when I blew through the wall.

Fausta nodded curtly, her mouth thinning. She held out a hand to Fenris without looking at him; he handed her the papers and she muttered angrily as she pushed them against the wall, having no desk on which to work. "Ink and quill," she said demandingly. Fenris, ever obedient, found her a spare bottle of ink and a broken quill.

She grimaced over her work as she crossed out a few lines on the papers against the wall. "As it is your habit to whisk away my slaves, I feel that I should inform you of another mage residing here, as well. Would you like her?" Fausta asked, voice bleeding scorn.

Danarius chortled again at her ill-humor. "If I must. One can never have too many objects in their..." He cut his eyes to me. "Collection."

I swallowed thickly, inching my way over to Fenris cautiously.

I inhaled, calming my surging blood and feeling unbelievably helpless beneath the amused, trailing gaze of Danarius.

_Now what have I done?_

He quirked two of his fingers toward himself; I nearly grabbed Fenris's arm, but refrained, knowing magic still coursed swiftly, aggressively through my veins.

I stepped forward; I didn't lower my head, as I know I should have – Danarius was my new Master, and that title called for respect – but I didn't respect him. No amount of power that he could wield would ever make him a palatable living being.

When I was within arm's distance he reached out; I ducked instinctively, but his hand followed. I forced myself to pause, to not run away – I didn't wish to irk him, not when he had finally agreed to take me with him.

His palm touched my forehead and I flinched; violent magic wrenched through me and I gasped in brief pain before the world tipped sideways and blackened.

**-B-**

A hand stroked through my hair; I tensed, fearing the worst.

_Danarius. Disgusting_. I tensed.

"Marian?" a quiet, whispery – feminine – voice said.

My eyes cracked open, and the world gave a violent lurch; I nearly rolled over the side of the bench. A headache blossomed across my temples and I groaned, grasping the seat below me with both hands.

"Pana?" I asked, confused. I tried to focus on the face floating above me as the hand resumed its stroking.

We were in a cart - with a roof blocking the sun.

Realization filtered into my brain and a bitter smile rose to my face.

_He got Pana, too._

_Maker damn it._

I chuckled, the humorless sound turning into sour, mindless giggles as tears formed in the cracks of my eyes.

"We won't – we won't be separated after all," I said, my heart aching even as the bubbles of laughter choked me. I turned my head away from Pana, hating the morose, pitying look on her young face. I felt the choking dullness of a mage collar around my neck – stifling my magic, keeping me from doing something rash and dangerous.

Fenris sat opposite us, glaring down at my position in Pana's lap. His arms were crossed defensively, his hair in disarray.

"Whose fault is this, _Leto_?" I asked harshly, my lungs still trembling. "Yours, or mine?"

I burst back into laughter at the flash of hurt on his face. "Fuck." I gasped. "It has to be mine. All mine." I turned back over, staring at the ceiling. "All mine."

Disappointment and guilt ate at me, trying in turn to swallow me whole.

I wanted to curl up and cry – instead, I closed my eyes and laughed.

**-B-**

Fenris and I stared harrowingly at each other from across the cabin of the carriage as it bumped along.

His green eyes were blank, but his heated expression spoke volumes; his hair lightly swayed by his cheekbone as we rocked along, his head tipped forward and face irate.

_You lied_, his face accused when his eyes would dart my way.

_Am I such an evil person that you should think so little of me?_

He stopped sending me glances, preferring to stare out of the window. Danarius had asked Fausta to spare a carriage in order to transport all three of us to his estate.

My hand was held fast in the tiny hand of the other mage – the one Danarius took to have a collection.

_Maker, I hope he burns in the deepest pit of the Black City for this. _Pana was pensively quiet as Fenris and I held our vile staring contest, neither of us willing to break the silence.

_Congratulations, Hawke_. _Now all of you are fucked. _I closed my eyes and inhaled. I should have just let Danarius take Fenris with good grace – accepted the inevitable.

But _damn it all_, it didn't have to be inevitable.

_Fenris, you're a fucking idiot._ Anger boiled my blood – I hated this, hated that I let this happen. I glared out of the window. _Why is it always so hard for you to _talk_ to me?_

Communication was how relationships worked. I knew – _knew_ – that he cared. Why wouldn't he just _talk _to me? Of all the times we had snuck away to be together, or even in the future when we had sat down and shared a wine bottle – why couldn't he ever just say what was on his mind?

I never spurned anyone who put their faith in me. Not once could he have said _I'm not being freed with you_? Or mentioned that he was getting _Danarius _to pay for us?

_No_, the bitter thought struck me sourly. _I shouldn't have trusted him to handle the situation – he clearly doesn't trust me._

_You hurt him, too._

Maker's breath, I hated the logical side of my brain.

_He was surrendering everything for you, and you lied to him.__I never lied. I just didn't tell him I was a mage – he hates mages. If that's lying, then he lied to me by not telling me that he was – Maker, he was surrendering himself for me._

_What is the point of being free if I can't be free with _him?

I shut my eyes against the world, clenching my hands together, remembering all the times that I could remember Fenris lamenting his mutilated, tattooed skin, cursing the magister Danarius for bestowing upon him his plight.

_I failed you, Fenris_. _Pana_. I bit down on my bottom lip, refusing to show the weakness in its trembling. I hissed and released it when a tremor of pain lanced it and I tasted copper.

I was immediately reminded of our short tryst in the armory – when we were interrupted and he dropped me, causing me to pierce my bottom lip. I licked my lip reflexively, remembering how my heart swelled and longed for him.

As it still did – as it always would, I expected.

I had only wanted to spare him the years of pain, of internal conflict, of damnable anger – I wanted him to never know the pains of the lyrium tattoos, to know freedom and joy, instead.

I wanted to change his life.

_What the hell am I doing?_

_He doesn't care about himself – why should I?_

"I'm sorry," I muttered, not knowing to whom I spoke. Sorry to Pana for drawing attention to us mages, sorry to Fenris for being such a failure.

_I'm sorry I'm angry with you, but I can't _not _be mad at you._The hurt feeling festered in my blood.

Pana squeezed my hand, and I looked at her. She smiled sweetly, trying to calm me in the best way she knew how.

I worried for her.

I worried for me.

I worried for Fenris.

I worried that, no matter how hard I fought against the future, it would all turn out to be entirely _my fault_.

**-B-**

The ride to the heart of the Imperium was blessedly – terrifyingly – short. When the doors to our carriage opened, Fenris leapt out without much preamble; I followed him on shaking legs, frightened that I had not only lost a dream, but a friend.

A lover.

_Fenris.  
><em>

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><p><em><strong>I suck. I'm sorry. This chapter is long overdue – but to those of you who have stuck around, thank you.<br>I apologize for any weird sounding sentences - I realize now that FF has a habit of swallowing words and spaces. I tried to catch them all, but I may have missed a few.**_

**What do you want for Christmas?**


	17. 14 The Fool

_**I send my love and thanks to the quiet readers out there who have been lurking around in the dark and are unable to get my "thank you" return PMs**__**.**_

**Most of the reviewers requested more chapters for Christmas, and to that I responded that I would try my best to release a few more chapters before the 25****th****. And here I am! C: Happy early Christmas, fanfic readers – and to everyone else that wanted videogames or magical powers or goodwill towards mages, I hope you will also have a happy holiday and accept that if I **_**could**_** turn you into a dragon or buy you things or make Templar stop beating up mages, I definitely would.****  
><strong>_**  
><strong>__**Note: The "dream sequence" is marked by –DS- in this chapter so as to not confuse too many people. Look out for it!**_

* * *

><p><em>"When she arrived at Hades' door<br>The god of thunder was waiting  
>Zeus said, 'You're the one I've been longing for.'<br>And she said, 'You're the one I've been hating.'"__  
><em>-"Araceli", Nataly Dawn

* * *

><p><strong>14. The Fool<strong>

We were let out into stables; the earthy stench of animal clung to the air. Pana stuck to my side as the driver – an intimidating human male – stoically released the lone horse that had been pulling us as another hulking guard dismounted the carriage from behind, looking intimidating with weapon drawn.

Pana and I stood quietly beside the cart beneath the massive shelter, awaiting instructions, I supposed – sanity still seeped into me slowly, my mind remaining in a dazed, disillusioned state.

The situation didn't feel real anymore – Fenris wouldn't betray my trust, wouldn't leave my back unprotected – Fenris _always _had my back.

_He wouldn't even _look_ at me._

I spied an expansive building a few hundred feet away with jutting smokestacks and curving oriel windows that glinted in the blinding Tevinter sun; the stark black points of the mansion contrasted harshly with the light blue roundness of the blazing sky, the heat tendrils giving the structure an eerie Fade-like quality.

The building was colossal – gorgeous – threatening. Deep shadows curved around windows and spires, tumbling into hollows and shading over gaunt features with a stillness I had never been able to name.

Trepidation wormed into my gut and I took a step back, walking into a wall and knocking something – something wrought iron - over. One of the men guarding us barked a few harsh words at the sudden noise, and Pana's hand reached up to grasp mine again.

My eyes met Fenris, who stood apart from us on the other side of the room – back square, body tense.

We jointly glanced away from each other; my heart skipped a beat as I recalled not a few hours ago how we – when we were -

I shut my eyes and obstinately ignored Fenris's presence.

_Not this. Not yet_.

I didn't know how to make this better – I wasn't even certain that I _wanted _to anymore.

_Is it so much to ask that I just go home?_

I could feel licks of magic arcing from Pana into my waist as she pressed herself into my side. _How did I ever imagine Fausta being ignorant of Pan's abilities? She's practically a glowing ball of magic – especially when stressed like this__._

It was always about the money – Fausta wanted to appear wealthier than she was presently. Owning mages, behavior that was doubly taxed by the Imperium, would give any magister at least the illusion of wealth, I supposed.

I sighed and opened my eyes, watching dust dance in the air as the guards led the horse behind its gate and out of the way in the huge stable area.

_Why have I gotten myself into this mess? _I should have kept my big mouth shut and my sparky fingers off. How bad was it, really, that Fenris was bought by Danarius? It was only following the right timeline – the one that I was aware of, anyway.

_Maybe the truth is that one can't change history._

_Maybe one shouldn't _want_ to._

_Maybe..._

I jerked, trying to distance myself from my own train of thought, instantly hating myself for the innocuous idea that trickled into my mind.

_Fenris is still a friend, _I defended, steeling myself against the weaker parts of my mind. I still cared for him, even though...

_...even though we end up hating each other more often than not._

..._even though he can't ever get over his prejudices against mages_.

_...even though he's just a slave, now. He can't even make his own decisions – a magister does it for him._

Everything bad that _could_ happen _always did_ when it came to Fenris and I. Maybe it was fate that we end up going our separate ways; no matter how strong my attachment to him was, we would always have that break in communication _somewhere_ – he was too complicated a person for me to completely understand. Future, past – he could never just _talk_ to me – or _trust _me.

The sharp clicking of hooves over stone drew my attention to the winding driveway that was visible past the gates of the stables. A guard perked up and walked swiftly past me, shoving me forward meanwhile. I grasped Pana's thin shoulder and we stepped out of the building, trailed closely by the stoic Fenris.

A black carriage was approaching, the sharp wheels and uniform horses kicking up stones and dust in their wake. I smoothed Pana's hair on her back and stiffly ignored Fenris, who stood directly at my side at the rough urging of the guard. Another shove to my shoulder sent me stumbling a few feet, and I directed a fierce glare at the large, offending man behind me.

"Move," he grunted, meeting my sharp gaze with a barbarous grimace of yellowed and rotting teeth. My nose scrunched and I grasped Pan's hand, leading her forward to the entrance of the mansion, staring as Danarius exited his carriage – with the aid of a handsome, neatly dressed elf that had appeared out of no place I was certain of. Steely blue eyes crossed our direction; my own immediately glanced away – I almost missed Danarius's slow smile at my hasty retreat.

I threw my eyes back at his, stubbornly meeting his gaze with a brazen stare.

_I am not your slave._

_Go sit on the wrong end of a hammer_.

Danarius's smile diminished, but a stomach-dropping glint remained in his eye as he ascended the imperious steps to his mansion, still fifty feet away. Two elves were ready with the double doors open – one relieved him of a velvet cape tied around his shoulders; the other stooped in front of him – as we approached, I could make out that the elf had crouched to clean his feet with a rag and bowl of water. I tried to hold back my distaste, praying that I would never be set upon such a demeaning task.

Danarius was already buried somewhere in the mansion by the time we reached the bottom of the steps; I had to aid Pana in climbing the mountainous, steep stairs with her short, skinny legs. The two guards shadowing our steps abandoned us in the threshold before returning to tend the other carriage.

A tall, imposing man with dark hair took their place, standing before us with his arms straight by his side. He asked no questions; merely beckoned us forward with one hand as he turned around and strode away, expecting us to follow.

I turned to peer out the door behind us, wondering at the lax security of the mansion – especially concerning me, a known volatile mage. Was Danarius so full of himself that he didn't stress such security measures? I couldn't believe that, since I knew his intentions for making Fenris into the ultimate guard.

Then I saw the wall.

It was enormous, just like everything else Danarius owned. It enveloped the entire estate and turned the Magister's home into a defendable fortress; the stone wall easily reached fifteen feet high, and would be extremely difficult to climb, with no visible notches or gaps. At the opposite end of the winding path leading around to the doorstep, I could see gates – far off and gleaming, with a dozen of stationed guards standing by – and that was just the view from the _inside_.

I looked further around and could see patrolling guards walking around the perimeter of the fence and loitering around a few of the trees and patches of green garden that were within the walls; I didn't have enough time to count their numbers, as a little hand insistently tugged me forward after our one-man welcoming committee.

Doubt, oppressing and full, bore down upon me as I stepped into line behind Pana and Fenris and prepared to be thrown into a den of wolves.

** -F-**  
>A servant of Danarius intervened before we could get far into the mansion – this one was an elf with long, blonde hair that was twisted into a steep bun atop her head.<p>

"Lord Danarius requires your presence," she spoke in my direction. My palms twitched and I released Pana to step forward, but I was immediately halted by her raised hand. "Not you," the elf said irritably, and I raised an eyebrow. "Her." She beckoned my tiny elf forward and I grabbed Pana's arm, holding her back.

The other elf raised her eyebrow. I hesitated, but eventually realeased my dear Pana.

_I can't let her earn Danarius's ire so soon._

_But Maker damn it, do I not want him to get his hands on her._

_Too late for that_, I thought as Pana turned her big, expressive eyes onto me. I watched her chin tremble for a moment before I stooped quickly to kiss her cheek.

"It'll be okay," I assured her hollowly, combing her long hair with my shaky fingers. It had long since fallen out of the bun I had meticulously wrapped it in that morning - why did that feel so long ago? I steeled myself, knowing that Pana didn't need to see me weak – not again. "He just wants to talk. You show him respect and don't follow any of my examples, okay?"

_I'm just as scared as you are, babe. I've already fucked up once in front of that man, after all._

Pana cracked an unsure smile at my open admission of failure at being a slave. She nodded, blinking back tears and slowly spun to follow the skeptical elf that awaited her.

_My brave Pana. _I sighed and stood as Pana was led away, anger heating my face.

_If he so much as fucking touches her, I'm going to castrate him._

I met eyes with Fenris, who had been watching the entire encounter. He looked away again, glaring at the wall.

Indignant, my mouth pressed into a straight line. _And he acts as if all of this is _my _fault – the _nerve_ -_

"The mage and I will continue from here," the man leading us said in his deep, rumbling voice – making me jump, as I had forgotten all about him. I glanced back up at Fenris to see his eyes narrow. "Elf, you are to report to the guard station to learn what is expected of you and commence formal training." He pointed to the door to our left as we stood in a towering foyer. He turned promptly and continued onward, leading me through a door to our right.

I had no choice but to follow him, not sparing another backwards glare at Fenris.

_He wanted this?_

I shook my head and stepped behind my guide. "My name is Marian," I said quietly, but strongly.

_I have a name, you prick. _He was super tall and lean; I couldn't exactly place his exact age, as he had one of those faces where he could be just about any age in between thirty-five and fifty. He wore a long, handsome overcoat that brushed the floor as he walked. It was masculine and dark, making me wonder what his place he held under Danarius – surely he wouldn't permit a slave to dress so well.

_Servant, then?_

He gave no reply to my nippish remark, instead showing me a path up the first flight of stairs – a servant route, one not typically used by guests if the unpolished looks that was not shared by the rest of the mansion were evidence enough. He spoke little – a few nods in directions of landmark rooms that were easily placed, such as the library, the guest room hallway, a lounge for guests.

It was understood that I was unwelcome in all of them.

The third floor seemed to be Danarius's floor – so to speak. It had his study at the left end of the hall that branched into the two conjoining rooms on either side of it – I couldn't fathom why he needed so much space.

_For magister stuff_.

The doors were closed, though I could sense that Danarius was within – in the same way that I could sense my chances of escaping a free woman were growing slimmer and slimmer as I was led deeper into the den.

We passed another flight of stairs directly in the center of the hallway that led up a circling tower. Questions burned in my throat – questions I knew my generous host wouldn't answer – as he led me down the hall to the other end, to a door on the right. He opened it and ushered me in – it was little more than a closet, with a rug on the floor and a bucket in the far corner.

Confused, I glanced around, wondering what my use for this closet was.

The door slammed and locked behind me and I whirled around, startled by the sudden, loud noise that plunged me into pitch black darkness.

Realization filtered around me and I sighed, a headache growing somewhere in the vicinity of my temples.

_Maker damn it_. Stuck in a closet – while Pana and Fenris were doing _Maker-knows-what_-

I took a deep breath and relaxed, calming my magic before it exploded again. I conjured a ball of light, taking a minor satisfaction in the way that I had no reason to conceal my magic now that it was a known fact that I possessed the gift.

The rug was brown – whether it was stained that color or crafted that color, I couldn't tell. The walls were sturdy and protected by runes that had been drawn up elsewhere – possibly even at the foundation of the house. I felt the thrum of subtle magic beneath my palm when I pressed it flat against my new cage, curious but ultimately knowing why I had been locked in a closet.

_Bad Marian needs to be punished._

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the cramped room, surprised that my knees didn't touch either of the walls. My ball of mage light dimmed and dispersed as I settled in, leaning against the wall behind me.

_What now?_

_I'm in enemy territory with minimal allies and no opportunities to escape._

_I was just freed – but I signed my freedom back over when I begged Danarius to bring me with him._

Giving up was beginning to look like a viable option. I didn't even know how to _feel _about Fenris – his blatant rejection, his refusal to aid me -

Why should I aid _him_?

I shook my head of these thoughts. _Fenris is your friend. _

_Was._

_He's an important figure in your life. You can't just abandon him – you aren't _that_ evil._

_He had been an important person to me – but that was in the future. Maybe here, in the past, under these circumstances – we weren't _meant_ to be friends._

A mistake had been made.

_This can__'t be the lesson I was meant to learn__ by being sent here__._

I wanted to confront Fenris – to finally ask him directly what he was thinking, what he wanted – if he truly cared about me, cared that I was a mage -

_He gave you a favor._

But a simple flower didn't count – it was thoughtful and sweet, but -

I groped into my dress and pulled out the crumpled flower he had given me; I could barely see it in the soft light of the closet, but I could plainly feel the soft petals and sticky stem.

_What do you mean? _I internally interrogated the pitiful, rumpled flower.

I rolled my eyes at myself and stuck it back into a loose thread of my smock. _It means he thought about me. Stop reading into a damn flower._

It felt like I stewed in the closet for hours, worrying – wondering – depressing myself. It took a lot of my willpower to not sink all the way to the floor to try to catch some sleep – we never received much sleep under Fausta's care; I had no idea how much I would be allowed beneath Danarius.

I doubted I would get much rest, even if I tried. The rug beneath me was stiff and hard, smelling of mothballs and lye as I troubled myself over every minute detail, every choice and action that I had made, wondering if could I have done something different, foreseen some outcome – would I still be trapped in a closet, angry at the one person whom I thought I could count on?

_You _did _lie to Fenris. He has the right to hate you for it._

_Is it right to blame him for this situation?_

I bent over in the closet, my fingers daggering into my hair with frustration.

_He wanted to be my suitor._

_He wanted to _court_ me._

_Why would he say such things if he only intended to force me out of his life?_

His actions were eccentrically cruel; bitter tears stung the corners of my eyes as I remained hunched. I tried to be reasonable about my thoughts – _he only wants to protect me, he probably didn't mean to hurt me so – _but my splintering heart drowned out my own logic.

And _Danarius_.

_Why didn't I see that one coming?_ I bit my lip, drawing blood from my previous wound dealt my own teeth previously. _Isn't that what I've been trying to change this entire time? His fate at the hands of Danarius?_

The Maker had a sick sense of humor.

I closed my eyes with a steep exhale and leaned my head back, allowing it to fall against the wall as I wondered where I had gone wrong.

My mind swirling with uncertainties and unwelcome assertions, I fell into a restless sleep; only a lone, finally finished thought following me into the bending stillness of the Fade.

_Maybe Fenris isn't worth all of this trouble._

**-DS-**

Piss poor beer had been spilled onto the table during some point of the night; droplets trickled onto the lap of her robes, though she hadn't thought to care yet.

She laughed, but she didn't know why. Several people were talking at once, all in the midst of different stories or jokes or dirty limericks; they all seemed funny, and she was in good company and good health and it was a celebration of victory.

She wonders what they were celebrating, anyway. She couldn't rightly remember anything except _damn it these people are hilarious; why don't I just live here?_

Forgetting the fact that it was a crusty old tavern, she enjoyed her time with friends and – touching everything heavily, people a little inappropriately – giggling, drinking, _down the hatch_!

Through the buzzing of her mind – was it usually so foggy in the Hanged Man? – she found soft yellow eyes, a stubbly smile – so _funny_, talking about kittens and magic – and she would very much like a kitten, except she had a dog, and poor old Felix would probably eat the bugger – and _that _was funny, too, and she raised her glass to fur and cute paws and freedom.

And then the short man stood on a chair to give a toast, and it was an excuse to drink some more – not that she needed one. People whistled in her direction after he said something – was he still talking? – and she stood to take a bow, but tripped and fell, falling over her stupid robes and _I really need to start wearing pants again, mage or not_. She rolled right onto the man with the stubbly smile and snorted, laughing alongside everyone else, trying to climb up but falling over the lap of the man anyway.

A hand smacked her behind and a busty woman walked into view, chortling with a cigar in her mouth. It was so _hard _to stand, so she just settled in where she was.

It wasn't so horrible there – he smelled nice and spoke softly and the feathers were so comfortable and warm against her face, she almost fell asleep.

When her eyes opened next she was outside, and it was cold, and she protested – _No, I want to go back in _– and the lights from the tavern spilled out into the road and her hand was caged in unyielding metal and she wanted to crawl into a corner and sleep for a little while longer but-

She fell into spikes and complained, batting her hands against a familiar metal plate. When she looked up she saw anger, accusations, distaste in a stiff upper lip. She blinked, trying to remember where she was – why was her mind so mottled? – she said something catty, something flirtatious about the white lines trailing behind his ear and the man growled fiercely in response.

Now life was funny again – she laughed, the sound reminding her of kittens and cute paws and drinking. Harsh words left the angry mouth again, words sounding like _promiscuous_ and _mage_.

She doesn't rightly know what possessed her, but she leaned up and kissed his disapproving lips, wondering if they tasted as sour as they sounded. She was surprised at how sweet they were, how abruptly gentle they felt against her own as she licked and nibbled and explored.

Then the cage came again, tightening around her jaw this time. He removed her face from his, looking distraught.

"What you afraid of, Fen?" she exhaled against his chin, not entirely comprehending what she was saying, knowing she was only two steps away from passing out in a gutter 'til morn.

Hesitance, always that same hesitance. Her hands were grasping his arm muscles, which were exposed for the enticing visual they provided of his markings instead of any logical armor choices; she absently traced a lyrium line with her finger as she stared as his mouth, wondering why there had to be so many _words _involved.

She knew he was attracted to her; she could tell by the way he treated her, smiled at her, shared with her. She saw the conflict on his face and acted again, leaning up to press her lips to his harshly, trying to force his decision with impatience.

He returned her kiss with reluctance and then fervor, pulling her waist to his in a swift movement that knocked them partway into shadows.

She didn't release his mouth until she had to gasp for breath; her vision blurred and wavered until she collapsed against him, panting, grasping onto him for balance.

She heard the elf sigh and felt cold, steely arms wrap around her. "This isn't going to happen now," he said firmly, hoisting her up. She leaned on him limply, dazed and utterly kissed. He muttered something else like _hapless drunkard _and _damned mage_, and she wanted to shout in indignation because she was most certainly _not_ a drunkard compared to one that dined with a bottle of wine for every meal, and -

The fog lifted, inch by inch, when the light rain began to fall. The cold pinpricks of water slapping on her face served to sober her up a bit on the walk home -

And never mind _that_, because she could feel every inch of her robed, soft side pressing against his spiky edges - and it was doing things to her. She leaned her face into his chin and sucked on his neck, biting high, tasting lyrium and rainwater. His step faltered and she took the advantage, sliding a hand into his hair and angling his head back toward her face to kiss him again.

And he pulled away. Again.

"_Hawke_," he implored, sounding torn. "Stop."

Somewhere she knew why - somewhere - he didn't like to be touched?

She whined, ducking her face back to his neck. She may have whispered a plea, may have moaned in consternation at his refusal to be with her.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and pulled her to her own doorstep - she didn't know whether he planned to leave her drunk ass in the foyer or not, but he got the door open and helped her in before walking further into the house by himself, searching.

She began unbuckling and shrugging off clothing until she was just a tad above indecency, sitting on the bench that her mother had thought to buy to have a place for her daughter to kick her dirty boots beneath when she walked in the door after hours and hours of stomping around in mud, so she shoved her boots under it now, wondering when the handsome elf would return -

And there he was, walking back to the foyer and looking irritated again - until he saw her clad in little more than a slip that was to be worn under her robes. She was sure he could see nearly all of her, could tell when his breath grew deeper even though her head was still clouded with drink.

She stood, and met his gaze, heard his breath quicken as she took a step forward and reached out to him.

There were so many words behind his intense green eyes, so many passions and questions and he was still so angry and jealous and _heated_.

She finally reached him, yanking herself to him and crashing her lips to his again with a flame burning within her - then the world was turning, spinning and _rough, steel-clad hands clasped hers, biting into the tender flesh. Her eyes registered a bright flair of cerulean light before her back was slammed against the stone wall, her head glancing off the surface painfully. Her fingers were gripped hard as she was pressed, unrelenting, into the wall._

_Green was lit by fading blue; the anger was finally absorbed by _heat_, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment as he slowly released her - only to be twisted and pushed by herself, rammed against the wall as she realized that she could not stand to have him walk away from her now__._

When the evening was done and he ran away, her naked, red bottom slipped to the cold floor as she prepared to sleep off another thrilling hangover - only to forget most of the events of the night, come morn. She couldn't remember how she had gotten home without falling into a ditch or how she had met up with Fenris at all - he wasn't even _at _the celebration that night, was he? - but she knew that she had done something to upset him.

She just couldn't remember what it was - or why he avoided her like the Blight afterwards. Was it the sex? Was it _her_?

**-DS-**

I woke with a start as there was a knock at the door. My body unfurled and I made a hasty effort to rid my face of the evidence of my brief, memory-plagued sleep.

"Mage? I'm here to show you around to the important rooms," said a bright male voice from the other side of the door.

I pursed my lips in aggravation – partly due to the moron's lack of knowledge, partly because he interrupted my rumination. "I've already seen the _important rooms_," I responded in a plaintive monotone, trying to stem my flaring temper before it had a chance to manifest.

_We've all seen what happens when the "Mage" gets mad__._

"Master's orders," the slave said cheerfully. I sighed, waiting for the door to unlock, wondering what other _important rooms _I was to be shown.

After a fine minute of sitting in silence, he spoke again. "Are you going to come out?" he pondered, sounding confused. There was a pinprick at the back of my mind – a trickling sense of déjà vu, or rather – a feeling of recognition.

"The door is locked," I stated acerbically, rubbing my temple - I was developing a headache from being trapped in darkness for so long; I knew that I should be a bit kinder and slavish, but I did not have enough mental capacities to force myself to be so.

"Oh!" the man – or boy, judging by his speech – exclaimed. "Right." The knob on the door gave a lurch and I stood on shaking legs, feeling the blood rush to my feet and the piercing pinpricks that followed the numbness. It took another minute for the man on the other side to open the door – there were several _tick _sounds as he apparently tried to fit the key into the lock.

_Maker. _

I was rubbing my forehead when the door finally opened to the triumphant cry of my rescuer. The light blinded me for a few moments – had I really been in that closet for so long? – but as soon as I was able to focus -

My jaw -

My eyes -

I gasped, my hand flying up to catch my mouth. A name tingled on my lips, but I said nothing, my mind curiously blank.

The boy had a distressing scar running the length of his face, from temple to neck; it was ugly and thick, with hair growing around it, but not on the tissue. His eyes, though, were untroubled and happy. He held up his key with a dopey smile and motioned me forward cheerfully. "I need to show you the room down this way, Mage," he said, pointing a finger over his shoulder.

I couldn't speak, my mouth moving and closing soundlessly.

_But this -_

_It's some sick trick -_

_It can't be real_ -

There was no sign of recognition in his eyes – no wisp of confirmation that he was who he appeared to be.

_This can't be right – he's _gone -

It was another moment before I realized he was actually waiting for a response.

"I – I –" I choked on my words, a lump in my throat. "O-okay."

_Get a hold on yourself, Hawke._

"Follow me!" the elf said happily as he turned and strode down the hallway at a jolting pace.

I held my breath and followed Kornyn to wherever he was leading me.

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><p><strong>What would you get the DA2 characters for Christmas? (or whatever similar holiday you may celebrate.) <strong>


	18. 15 Little Fox

_**"Taris" is a result of lazy writing. Please excuse me for it.**_

_**A****lso: I had planned to update another "Leto" outtake, but due to excess of family during the holidays, those plans have changed! But I'm highly certain that another Outtake can be expected after the holidays.**_

**Happy Christmas, late Hanukkah, Festivus (bring out the feats of strength!), early Kwanzaa, and holidays to all of you internet goers! To everyone else: Happy Monday!**

* * *

><p><em>Do not dwell in the past; do not dream of the future; concentrate the mind on the present moment.<em>_  
><em>_ Buddha_

* * *

><p><strong>15. Little Fox<strong>

I sat in a wooden chair – I couldn't bear to stand any longer, my legs giving way in shock - staring unseeingly at the warm-skinned elf before me – who returned my gaze happily, and with a lopsided smile.

"You aren't real," I whispered, my brows arching up. I wanted to reach out and touch him – but at the same time I didn't; I didn't want to risk shattering the illusion.

I had waited and waited – hoping for a light of recognition, proof that this was _Kornyn_ and he _knew me.  
><em>  
>I was half convinced that he was playing a trick on me – or secretly under cover, sabotaging Danarius.<p>

_But why?_

_How?_

_Why Kornyn?_

Kornyn pondered a moment. "I am real." He looked briefly troubled – then he smiled again, magically forgetting his woes. "This is the medical room – where people get healed if they get hurt – and the room off of this is where the healers sleep, so don't talk too loud because it's dark outside and they're sleeping – and –"

"What's your name?" I asked persistently, feeling a bit lost. Over his shoulder, I spied numerous shelves of multicolored bottles, stacked row by row, organized loosely by color and content.

Kornyn stopped talking, his mouth hanging open and his arm extended. His eyes glazed over as he was momentarily lost in thought.

"I'm Marian," I supplied quietly, my heart aching. A long, dark lock of hair flopped over his brow as he bowed his head, still ruminating.

_He doesn't recognize me._ I eyed the nasty scar on the side of his head, figuring – _knowing_– that Danarius did something to him, but unable to realize _what_ he did to him.

_He's supposed to be _dead_._

_Danarius must have saved him._

_But_ _why?_

My fists clenched and unclenched as I awaited his answer. _He doesn't even know his own name. Is this preferable to death?_

"Oh!" he said, a sheepish grin appearing on his face. "I'm – I'm – _Alois_." He nodded after testing the sound of the word. "Master told me so." His smile showed his brilliantly white teeth. "I love Master."

I didn't have the courage to look him in the eye – something was so...so _wrong _about him, and I couldn't put my finger on it.

After a few minutes of silence – where was all the time going? – I raised my head again and caught Kornyn – _Alois?_– staring at the ceiling blankly. "K - Alois?" I spoke gingerly, not wanting to startle him.

He still jumped. "What?" he asked, startled. He fiddled with a loose strand on his pants and pushed his hair out of his eyes, seemingly unable to stay at complete stillness for very long.

"Are there more rooms for you to show me?" I finally asked patiently, silently asking for his forgiveness.

_What did he do to you, my friend?_

_I'm so sorry._

Guilt lanced my heart.

_I should have talked him out of going to that stupid party – it wasn't worth it._

This _isn't worth it._

"What?" he repeated, looking utterly confused.

"You were supposed to show me to someplace else," I responded, standing cautiously – testing that my legs didn't shake or give.

"I was?" He sounded so puzzled. I nodded solemnly, wishing that I would burst into flames and die to save myself any more heartache.

_First Fenris – now this? Is Danarius planning to own everyone I know, or is this twisted coincidence?_

The door opened, and we both turned our heads to see the servant – slave? Butler? Steward? – that showed me around the mansion originally. His towering figure consumed most of the doorway as he leaned inside.

"The Master wishes to speak with the mage girl," he said, voice dispassionate and deep. I stepped forward, a cold, seeping dread filling my veins and icing my heart.

No further words were spoken as he led me down the hallway to Danarius' workroom – leaving Kornyn – _Alois_– behind in the healing station.

I had to nearly jog to keep up with the long strides of the stewards legs; Danarius' workrooms were at the other end of the corridor, I remembered – I kept my eyes trained forward as I remained merely a step behind the towering butler, feeling cold air draft up my smock and shuddering.

As the end of the hallway was reached, the butler moved to the side and opened the door directly in front of us in a neat, timely fashion – and without even a flourish or fancy bow. Suddenly intimidated, I took a deep, calming breath before I stepped into the threshold of what seemed to be Danarius' study.

Books lined the walls in massive bookcases; a lovely, intricate chandelier hung overhead, lighting the room with bright, two-tiered candlelight. I marveled at the smell of leather bound books and pages, the scents taking me back to childhood – father had been a lover of knowledge, and had attempted many, many times to acquire a healthy book collection.

Of course, his efforts never came to fruition, I thought, staring up at the dusty tomes stacked up to nearly the ceiling – we always had to run, or move homes too quickly for him to pack all of them up – but I had still devoured enough words on pages due to his collections over the years to keep me full for a lifetime.

Still, I hungered for the written word – it wasn't enough to recreate his collections in my own library, once I had the funds – I continued to search for magical tomes and fine literature, adding at least one new book to my library during any given week.

And there was always Isabela and Varric, dumping lewd and strangely informal novels into my library when I wasn't watching.

I tried to hide my brief smile when I recalled where I stood; I swallowed thickly around a parched tongue, hoping my reminiscence wouldn't be seen as disrespect. I laid eyes on Danarius, watching as he wrote something elegantly, with looping characters and a careless hand as I took another step closer, approaching his desk with caution.

Danarius didn't acknowledge my presence for the longest time – he merely sat at his desk, reading a few papers, eyes focused on the words he was absorbing.

I stood awkwardly before him, waiting to be addressed – I couldn't just turn and leave leave, as he had specifically requested my presence.

_He's toying with me_, the tactical part of my brain whispered. _Waiting to see how long it will be before you grow shifty and impatient._

_I'm already shifty and impatient, damn it!_

As if he had read my mind, Danarius spoke, "Have a seat."

_Shit_.

_I get the feeling this is a bit more than a social call._

I did as I was told, slipping into a cushioned chair in front of his desk and awaiting further order or cue.

It was all I could do to stop myself from twiddling my thumbs and looking back around at the books.

"What did you do to Kornyn?" I blurted out, instantly cringing and internally beating myself into a pulp.

_Idiot!_

_You blasted tit!_

Danarius never raised his eyes from the papers he held before him, but chuckled quietly beneath his breath. "I assume you mean the elf?" He didn't wait for me to clarify. "I needed him for a task; he served his purpose." His gaze rose to mine briefly. "I do not suspect he will last long."

My body froze, clenching uncomfortably. "You plan to kill him?"

He finally laid his papers on his desk and righted himself. "I plan to make use of him until his inevitable demise," he answered, seemingly amused by my questions.

I stewed that over, staring intently at the grain of his desk. _Does he mean until his natural death of old age, or is something internally wrong with him? _Obviously, something had been done to Kornyn – he had no memories, but at least he wasn't dead, as I had previously thought – but the way Danarius spoke -

"Are there any more questions?" Danarius generously asked, leaning back in his chair comfortably again. My eyes darted back up to his.

_You still haven't answered my first._

"Am I your slave?" - a question that had been nagging me. My papers were signed, I had been paid for – but I had then begged him to take my freedom away.

_Not exactly a productive situation, is it, Marian?_

He deeply inhaled, mulling over the question. "Owning a mage is unethical."

I snorted, completely unable to cover up the sound. A spark of irritation briefly ignited behind his pupils as he stared at me. I sucked on my bottom lip contritely, bowing my head, cursing myself again for not controlling my outbursts.

"Owning any person is unethical, if I may be so bold," I responded, trying to take the bite out of my words and praying to the Maker that I wouldn't be beaten or thrown into a closet to die. Fausta would have never stood my backtalk, and I was unsure if I should add _Master _at the end of that statement, or if he would see it as impudence and rightly piss him off.

"To some, perhaps," he allowed, running his fingers lithely across the edge of his desk. "To the powerful magisters of the Imperium, however, it would be political suicide to believe such words."

_Political suicide._

_Why should anyone else care about your political position?_

_It's your lack of morality that will prove to be a weakness of character_.

I already felt myself growing critical of Danarius; I had barely had one civil conversation with the man, and he had already blamed his actions on an outside source.

_A real man would bear the weight of his decisions with stiff shoulders_. _Politics don't force you to adhere slavery._

It was a few moments more before I regained my vocal boldness. "Am I your slave?" I repeated slowly, staring at his unblemished - but not unwrinkled - face.

He didn't bear the heat wrinkles and wind blisters that most other Tevinters acquired, living in the forsaken heat of the Imperium.

_Coddled._

_Like a princess_.

A corner of his mouth tipped upwards. "No, you are not," he replied, mimicking my slow monotone.

I exhaled through my nose, gaining more confidence with each second that wandered past.

_Not a slave._

But still not free.

"Although," he continued, snapping my attention back to him, "you have expressed quite an…_interest_in being owned." A crooked smile. "One may wonder, however, why - as your freedom was so diligently sought after." He rearranged some of the papers on his desk, sorting them as he pleased, giving me time to reflect and subtly panic. "But I believe I have a complete understanding of the situation."

A name screamed through my mind – a memory, fresh, desperation – _take me-_

"Due to the circumstances, I would believe myself a fool if I did not utilize my new asset," Danarius said, his eyes steadily peering into me for a moment. I froze over, feeling sweat pebble on my skin from the tense atmosphere. "A mage – one willing, at least in part, to serve me –" he leaned onto his desk and templed his fingers with a condescending smile. "Wouldn't you think me to be a fool if I never applied a _willing _mage?"

I was unsure of what he wanted to hear. "Yes, ser," I said stiffly, untrusting – but in some part of my mind, I appreciated how frankly he was answering my questions –most of them, at any rate.

I also appreciated that he hadn't actually brought up Fenris yet – I twitched, the subject raw and burning, even within the confines of my mind.

He waited patiently, graciously – I realized he was expecting me to continue to be nosy, so I willingly obliged:

"What about Pana?" I asked suspiciously. "Do you own her?"

"Not for long." I noted the fleeting differences between his posture and mine – his lazy, relaxed; mine rigid, and tense – I had to intentionally still my hands to keep them from fiddling with the hem of my smock anxiously. "You found me in the middle of drawing up the papers signifying her freedom."

My eyes widened, briefly dipping to the parchment on his desk. I licked my cracked, dry lips, wondering again how long he had left me in the closet.

_He isn't a saint. Remember that he _is_ a magister – magisters are evil._

"Of course," he elaborated, "I cannot allow her to leave – she is an untrained child; it would not only be irresponsible, but I could possibly be held accountable for anyone she could inadvertently attack. No; I will be responsible for her training until she is old enough to make a decision for herself." His eyes unfocused as he stared over my shoulder thoughtfully. "She has expressed capability in the area of spiritual healing – a remarkable trait for one so young and untrained." His eyes refocused. "Are you untrained?" Genuine curiosity leaked into his voice.

I had been completely blindsided by his amiable nature; he was every bit agreeable and even a tad benevolent. I hadn't expected him to free Pana – or even allow me to retain some semblance freedom – but his motives could still be called into question.

_He rescued you from death._

It was true; Fausta had declared that she would kill me.

_Fenris would hate you for even thinking this__._

_Fenris doesn't have to know – and future Fenris wouldn't even have a chance at knowing, would he?_

In any case, it would only serve me to tell the truth. "Not entirely," I grudgingly admitted, bowing my head and focusing on my hands in my lap. "My father taught me all he could, before he passed." I remembered telling someone that my father had passed in a farming accident - common enough, in the southern lands of Ferelden; it wasn't as if I could say my father and sibling died in a Blight which hadn't happened yet. _That _would cause some attention, more attention than I was willing to give. "What other knowledge I possess I gained from the study of tomes."

I relaxed in the cool air of the room – as long as I didn't directly look at Danarius, I felt fine; when I fixed my eyes on him, my body tensed and shifted.

"I intend to have you study magic," he finally stated, voice sounding a bit disappointed. I could hardly imagine why – because I wasn't raw talent, like Pana? "I would have you as a live-in apprentice; you would have all the freedom of my other apprentices – only you may not leave the estate without an escort." When I looked up in surprise, I saw a corner of his mouth tip upward. "It would be a shame for another magister to kidnap you, my dear."

He cleared his throat. "I assume you will conduct yourself in a relatively acceptable manner – there are rules in this house, I assure you, and no rule broken will go unpunished." He smirked again, taking a bit of bluntness from his words. "I expect the best performance out of you, girl – you have given me enough trouble as it is."

"Forgive me, ser," I said, ducking my head again, feeling my cheeks blossom with heat.

"You may go," he dismissed nonchalantly. I rocketed out of my chair and stilled, not wanting to seem too eager and upset him – but _really_ wanting to escape his scrutinizing gaze so I could _think_.

As soon I was back in the corridor and away from Danarius' study, I inhaled marvelously, feeling my muscles release. My mind, however, reacted inversely, unable to relax; it quickened with my pace as I traveled back to the medical room, snowballing with every step.

_I'm owned by Danarius – but not._

_Pana is owned by Danarius – but not_.

_He expects me to study beneath him. Does that mean that I'll eventually become a magister?_

_Kornyn is going to die soon, but not because of anything Danarius is actively doing to him._

_Danarius doesn't seem to be so evil._

That last thought struck me, leaving me blank and slowing. I lingered before a doorway, wavering literally and figuratively.

_Perhaps Fenris – the future Fenris – was misled. Maybe the pain of his markings blinded him into believing the magister is a monster, when really -_

I shook my head, shaking those thoughts. I couldn't know any of that – I had no idea if Danarius was the twisted son of a bitch Fenris knew or the kind, wizened mage that told me he was going to free a little girl because it isn't a just practice to own mages.

_Anders would be happy._

_I frowned. Perhaps not; slavery is still acceptable here, in some form. _

I did not think Anders a single-minded man - not completely, anyway.

"Girl," addressed a calm, deep voice, surprising me. I turned my head, spying the tall, dark steward over my shoulder. "Follow me."

I sighed, merely a step more from the medical room. I unwillingly took a step backwards and turned to follow the butler, glaring at his back as he led me back to the stairs.

"Do you have any other proficiencies?" he asked suddenly, making me skip a step and stumble to catch my balance.

"Pardon?" I asked reflexively as we traveled down the main stairway instead of the servant stairs.

"Other than magic, do you have any other notable skills?" he asked crisply.

I pondered a moment, pursing my lips, wondering what –if anything - could be considered a _notable skill_. "I can read," I said immediately, knowing that this wasn't a trait that ordinary slaves possessed. After a few more steps I added, "And I'm not shabby with a blade." My mind sprinted, imagining how one could possibly sum up their skills - I had no idea what he even expected to hear.

_I have killed darkspawn and dragons; I have traversed the Deeps and come out wise, I have studied remote regions of Thedas and am well traveled and versed. I know how to patch quilts and bake delicious apple pies; I serve my friends when they are in need, and persecute those who threaten them._

_I have never given up a task because it seemed too difficult._

_I have never surrendered._

_I have been a comrade to some of the mightiest soldiers in all of Thedas._

_I have seen the mighty fall and the weak triumph._

_I have borne enough miseries to last ten lifetimes._

_Ask me again;_

_Do I have notable skills?_

I said nothing, staying yet again a step after the butler in silence. _Yet, did any of that happen at all?_

_I am in the past; the future hasn't happened yet._

_What if it didn't happen at all? What if it won't happen, now?_

I held back a sigh. _I still have my knowledge and my skill, regardless. The future will have to be patient with me, for now__._

**-LF-**

The butler led me to the second floor of the ungodly large mansion, and we passed several impressively crafted doors as he continued treading the halls, knowing every turn and corner explicitly.

I was already lost. I doubted if I could even find my way back to the staircase without taking a few wrong turns – and I was paying careful attention to every step and turn we took.

He stopped in front of a door that hardly stood out from the rest; he reached into his robes and pulled out a ring of keys, jimmying one into the lock of the door. I waited patiently, wondering what else Danarius had in store for me.

"As you are to stay with us for an indefinite amount of time, I have been notified to prepare one of our many rooms for you," he said, his voice without inflection. "You are to reside within this room unless otherwise directed. You are welcome to traverse the mansion at your leisure, but not to exit its walls unless escorted by a person appointed by Master Danarius." He turned the knob and glanced back at me briefly. "Any questions?"

I contemplated shaking my head, but refrained. "What's your name?" I asked, wanting to know.

"Liam," he said impassively, and opened the door before I could respond.

My eyes widened and I held my breath as I saw my new room; it was huge, and beautiful – it was easily fifteen strides from one wall to the next and was gorgeously furnished with red and gold; but the most stunning feature was the elegant oriel windows that jutted from the center of the room, edged with crimson fabric.

"I have been instructed to remind you that unruly behavior does not go unpunished," Liam said, pulling me from my astonishment. I blinked, gaping at the amazing scenery – of the gardens, lush and full, despite the Tevinter dryness – of the sky, so azure and peaceful.

"Your new clothes are in the wardrobe," he continued, drawing my attention to the massive closet on the far side of the room, beside an expansive, wonderful bed. I imagined sleeping under a dusty closet with Pana so many times and I had to look away, guilt teasing the edges of my mind.

"Do you find your new accommodations to be acceptable?" said a smooth voice from the doorway. I turned to find Liam absent and Danarius in his place, looking as cool and calm as ever.

I took a deep breath to calm my spike of fear, knowing he would only revel in it. "Very much so," I said quietly, turning again to gaze out the window.

_Serene_. That was the word that came to mind when I looked out the picturesque window – the room instilled the feeling and the scenery outside reinforced the emotion.

"I am not an evil man, Marian," he asserted simply. I felt his eyes on me. "Power, however, in this life – in this Imperium – is key to a peaceful existence.

"I am a man with a lot of power," he continued, stepping forward. "I believe that you, too, possess a burgeoning gift of power. With my aid, you may also have peace."

"I don't want power," I said reflexively, knowing the consequences of power. "It corrupts."

Danarius chuckled warmly, and I was disarmed again. "Your situation with Leto is quite intriguing; from what I understand, you have only known him a few months and he was willing to pay a high price for your freedom."

I said nothing, but had to look away from the scene outside my window. I focused on the rug at my feet, noting the texture and the exquisite colors – trying to keep my mind from imagining Fenris, rejecting me in shock – and then getting angry at me for reacting to his betrayal.

"Did you know that it is a common practice to rename slaves once a master acquires them?" he went on to say, stepping ever more close. "Quite interesting, really, considering that you have seemed to rename Leto as your _little wolf_."

My mouth dropped and I spun around immediately, shock and rage making me tremble. "What do you mean to say?"

He seemed amused by my reaction. "Simply that, for one so opposed to slavery, you certainly have a willing slave wrapped around your finger."

"Are you trying to insinuate that Fen- that _Leto_ is my slave just because I gave him a nickname?" I narrowed my eyes, feeling my tremors leak down to the bone with my contained ferocity. "Do you plan to give _me _one, as well?"

His head tipped back and he laughed, his beard shaking. "That would be suitable, wouldn't it?" he mused, staring out the window himself. "Leto is not your slave, yet you name him because he is willing; you are not my slave, should I name you?"

I bit my lip as I calmed down, going back to staring at the floor. _He's messing with me again_. I slowly calmed my rage and stopped shaking as I realized that he was _trying_to goad me.

_Is he trying to get me to attack him again?_

I shook my head, releasing my lip to respond. "I couldn't care less what you call me, ser." _Not Master, not Danarius._I wasn't about to tell him my surname; it would be my luck that he would be able to find the Hawkes in Ferelden and hunt my family down to spite me.

He hummed thoughtfully before lazily backing toward the door. "Taris, I think," he said. "Much like the fox; sneaking your way into my flock and the _Fenris' _heart. Pretending not to care, yet keeping his token as assurance."

My head jerked up in surprise; I touched the spot on my smock where the flower was tucked away, unseen. I realized that he had noticed, during our little session, that I completely avoided any mention of the man responsible for my presence in the mansion at all; the lanky elf that I had thrown away freedom for.

"I wonder," he said, staring mindfully at me, "what he could have done to earn your favor. To have one such as you at his beckoning, he must be nearly as powerful and twice as cunning – one must be the wolf to earn the respect of the fox."

Another condescending, knowledgeable smile, then – and he turned, leaving his back to me.

"And Taris," he called briefly over his shoulder, dismissively – "I expect to see you at dinner."

He left me in the room by myself, with no one but my thoughts to answer to.

I sighed through my nose and glanced around the room, noting again the bed and the furniture – and the door on the opposite side of the room. I strode towards it, still processing the events of the day, feeling worn down and extremely tired – reminded that I had spent nearly the entire night hunched in a closet and the entire morning being interrogated.

I opened the door and a full, clean bath greeted me; a clawed-foot porcelain tub sat in the center of the small bathing room and I sighed again, pulling my smock over my head and casting a spell to heat the full tub before immediately climbing into it.

It was the most amazing feeling I had ever experienced – the intense relaxation caused most of my worries to drift away and for the first time in years, I just closed my eyes and shut the world out in an effort to relax.

_The future can wait._

**-LF-**

When I finally left the bath, I felt like a new person – I was clean for the first time in months, and most of my aches had drifted away into the warmth of the water.

But the best part -

The best part was what came after. After I noted that the door to my room was shut, I tread to my closet, smock in hand – prepared to unwillingly don it again – and opened the doors to reveal at least three sets of marvelous robes hanging. I pulled a soft blue set down, but not before I discovered something amazing folded at the bottom of the wardrobe.

_Smalls._

I had no idea how much I missed them until I put them on; and the _breast band_ – I felt so clothed and conservative and _female_I nearly wept. The more clothing I put on, the more assured of myself I grew; I felt less weak, and more like a capable, whole person.

_I wonder what he could have done to earn your favor._

I stared at my smock, discarded on the floor. I leaned down and retrieved it, seeking the rumpled flower tucked within.

I folded the filthy smock and set it at the bottom of the wardrobe and pondered the bruised, pink blossom.

_What _did_ he do to earn my favor?_ I wondered, staring at the flower. _Do I favor Leto merely because I know Fenris in the future? Is it because he's the only familiar face around?_

_Why do I favor Fenris at all, for that matter? He's never done anything to earn it – never treated me any differently than our other companions – other than Anders and Merrill – and he never accepted me fully, always rejecting me at the last minute, when it really mattered._

_Seems like a pattern._

Crestfallen, I closed my eyes and tucked the flower – now a mass of crumpled stem and slowly rotting petals – back into my smock in the bottom of the closet, telling myself that I would grab it later – Danarius had quite obviously pointed it out and noted its presence. It was clearly detrimental to keep carrying it around inside my clothing – he would merely continue to nag and tease me about it.

_I _will_ reconcile with Fenris – but it will be sometime yet before that happens._ The wounds he inflicted still smarted and burned. _For now, I will survive._

I fell onto the bed, hearing my joints crack as I maneuvered into a horizontal position on the outrageously large, wonderfully soft feather mattress.

I resolved to let things go, for now, and to focus on keeping Danarius happy until another option presented itself. I pressed my face into the pillow, trying to forget about life and Fenris and slavery for a while; I still had plenty of time to spare, after all, before Danarius demanded my presence at his dining table.

I inhaled deeply the scent of peppermint and down, humming myself to sleep, imagining strong, comforting arms around me in the warmth of the bed as I faded gratefully into nothingness.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I promise there will be more Fenris soon! I hate not having him around, but it feels a little necessary to give these kids some space atm.<em>**

**_While I'm Author Notating down here, if you see any ungodly obvious mistakes, please let me know - I only once-overed this before posting, since I'm strapped for my attention._**

_Qui__ck pronunciations for those like me who need them:__  
>Alois = Alloy<br>Taris = Tare-riss or Tah-riss  
>Pana = Pan-nuh or Pan-ah<br>Kornyn = Core-nin_

**Quick! Word association:**

**Fenris:**


	19. 16 Panacea

**"Fenris" is synonymous with "moody"****,**** "hot", and "irresistible". And oh boy, do I love kicking the poor guy around.**

**I want to take a short time up here to thank everyone who has alerted/favorite and commented on either of my stories; I note every screenname and I want you guys to know that you all mean a lot to me and keep me going when writing is tough! I'm stickin' it out for you guys, and I would love to have all of your broody babies.**

**I apologize again for the delays between chapters, b****ut I made an effort to sort of speed through some of the more boring aspects of the story – the parts that take the longest for me to write – in order to progress things to a point where I want to write more, if that makes sense.**

It is currently three in the morning and I will probably regret posting this, but…I feel like I should get this to you guys as soon as I possibly can in order to make up for all these months of nothing!

**You are all darlings for putting up with me for so long. What would I do without you guys?**  
><strong><br>****Well. Without further ado,**

* * *

><p><em>Recap: Marian Hawke wants nothing but to be with Fenris, but faces obstacles – the first one being his own stubbornness. In the last few chapters, Marian learned that Fenris lied by omission – he told her that they would be free together, but failed to mention that he signed his life over to Danarius in return for her freedom. Pissed and hurt, Marian ends up begging Danarius to take her with him – for better or for worse. Danarius decides that he wants both mages (Marian and the wee elf Pana) and intends to take them on as apprentices. Marian hasn't seen Fenris since they arrived at Danarius' estate, but as we join her now, she seems to be getting a bit more comfortable in her new environment...possibly more than she should be.<br>_

* * *

><p><em>Panacea: a remedy for all disease or ills; a cure-all.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>16. Panacea<strong>

Danarius requested my presence in his study before the sun had risen; I sleepily donned my borrowed robes and slipped from my room, stretching and scratching, trying to wake myself before I was caught unaware. I passed a few slaves in the hall and resisted the urge to nod at them; I knew I had to acknowledge the fact that, while I was not a _Master_, I was not one of _them_ any longer. If I let them know that I noticed them, it would only serve to put them on edge.

I sighed before I entered the study, finally waking completely, the wooden door cold and hard beneath my bare fingers.

The study was empty, from what I could tell. I glanced around, bemused.

I could only imagine why I had been called to the study at such an early hour – yet such early times were customary when training a new apprentice. It could be assumed that I would either receive my first test or first assignment – though I was certain that I had already faced my first assignment the night before.

Dinner with Danarius and his ilk had been an interesting affair; growing up as the daughter of a former noblewoman had taught me to recognize when I was being twirled around as a show.

And honestly – Danarius hadn't even been discreet about it. There were at least two other magisters besides Danarius present, and they had brought their own apprentices. To any outsiders, it would have appeared to be a small feast between close friends –

But, fortunately, I possessed a thriving bullshit detector - another side effect of being raised by a noblewoman.

_"Taris, I would like to have a word before we enter the chamber._

"As my apprentice, your actions reflect upon myself.

"_I expect you to be nothing short of charming around me and mine; is that clear?"_

"_Taris, is it?"_  
><em>"Such a sweet name for such a sweet girl."<em>  
><em>"Wherever did you find her, Lord Danarius?"<em>  
><em>"I did not believe Fausta to be capable of rearing such a talented young lady."<em>  
><em>"The most stubborn rose can bloom in even the harshest of environments, Earl Crombe."<em>  
><em>"My own boy Larius has blossomed beneath tutelage – such a surprise, really, as he has never shown much interest in the more powerful magics."<em>

I shook my head, relieving it of the voices – like arrogant taunts - ringing in my ears. Dinner had been tedious; nothing more than an opportunity for Danarius to show off one of his newer pets.

"_Your gladiators are quite impressive."  
>"Yes, Lord Danarius, the fights yo<em>_u manage are becoming nothing short of legendary. Wherever do you find the specimen?"  
>"Oh, please, gentlemen – on behalf of myself and the other women present, may we not discuss such brutal affairs at the dinner table? Tch, boys will be boys."<em>

"Ma'am," a gravelly, accented voice said. I jumped out of my skin, whirling around and clutching my heart.

"You scared the living shit out of me," I blurted at the intruder.

"Good morn," the elf said respectfully, bowing to me; I noticed a hint of redness about his ears. "I was ordered to give you this." He held out a piece of parchment betwixt his fingers, and I plucked it from them, staring at the words.

_Tomes on the desk__._

I narrowed my eyes at the words – what could Danarius be playing at? "Thank you," I said curtly, already irritated by the shady assignment. I cautiously approached the desk as the young man departed; I saw several books on the desk, stacked high, and my eyes widened.

He could not mean _all _of them, could he?

As in, _read them all?_

I groaned and fell into the hard-backed chair, laying my head flat on the desk. I counted up the stacks of leather-bound books with my fingers, growing more disheartened and intimidated by the second. Some of the tomes were rather thick.

I sighed, grabbing a quill and a sheet of parchment. _I may as well take notes_.

_Danarius will not get the best of me just yet._

Runes. The first five books were studies of runes – ancient, recent, everything. Simple, difficult - runes from everywhere in Thedas that I could imagine.

The lines gave me headaches. There were some which I recognized, such as the clever power runes that were found on some of the staffs I had wielded in the past – future? - or runes specifically crafted for other, trickier enchantments. I rubbed my face, sinking further into the chair. It was hardly noon yet and still I had at least ten more books to finish.

I felt like crying in frustration, but I would not; I refused to be caught showing weakness, especially to Danarius. I glanced at the notes I had taken, allowing myself a small breath of respite.

It was well past noon by the time I completed the work; my eyes were sore and my hand ached from taking notes. My fingers were stained with ink, and I fought the urge to wipe the sweat from beneath my eyes.

A late lunch bell rang, and I stood. _Do I eat lunch with the slaves, or is there somewhere else I'm required to dine?_

Leaving the tomes and my work behind on the desk, I left the room, wandering aimlessly down the hall with a rumbling stomach.

There were a few slaves about as I walked around, searching for a luncheon hall or a kitchen – _something_ – and I nodded and smiled in their directions, not wanting to give a bad impression to the rest of the inhabitants of the mansion.

_I identify more with you than the magister _– believe_ me._

I grew disheartened, however, when they all ducked their heads and rushed by me. I would turn my head and, a little hurt, and watch them scamper away - feeling more and more like an outcast than I ever had.

_Is this what Danarius had in mind when he announced that I was his apprentice? This – this alienation?_

I could not throw my lot in with the slaves, nor could I rightfully consider myself equal to the magisters – I was in a class by myself, caught in a mellow sort of limbo that seemingly involved a lot more paperwork than previously imagined.

After a few minutes of wandering aimlessly in the mansion, I realized that I was lost.

_Am I allowed to wander like this in the first place?_ I wracked my brain, trying to remember such an order that would bar me from wandering the estate.

I was all too happy to see a familiar face step around the corner before me. "Kornyn!" I expelled happily at the brown elf. "Er, I mean, Alois. What brings you here?"

Kornyn – Alois – smiled, his ears dipping cutely with the facial movement. "I remembered there was something up here that I forgot..." the boy said, scratching idly behind his neck, yellow eyes clouding with worry for a moment before brightening. "But I seem to have forgotten it again."

I snickered, amused at his statement. "Well, now that you're here, do you mind if I ask you to point me in the direction of food?" I patted my growling stomach. "I do believe I'm starving."

"Oh, sure!" Kornyn said happily, turning on his heel. "Lunch is this way."

I followed him down a hallway and to a secluded set of stairs – we swiftly descended, bringing us to the bottom floor. Kornyn stared blankly ahead, but his step didn't falter – carrying me closer to the scent of cooking oil.

I decided to wade into a conversation, choosing my words carefully. "How has your day been, Alois?" Keeping a close eye on his reactions, I remained in step at his side.

"Good!" he exclaimed, opening a door and barreling through without holding it open – I caught it sharply with the edge of my palm. "I think."

I couldn't bring myself to be irked by the blatant rudeness – I wasn't sure if he was aware of it or not. "What have you done today?" I tried to fish.

He abruptly stopped and quirked his head; golden eyes flickered to my face, confused.

"I can't seem to remember!" he said cheerfully before bounding off again; I had to jog to catch up to him.

"Surely that doesn't strike you as being normal?" I muttered beneath my breath. He opened a door to the kitchens, announcing that he had a friend who needed to be fed.

The cooks were outraged. A burly man with a singed beard yelled at Kornyn for believing he could waltz into the kitchen and demand food; a slim woman with thin arms beside him scolded the cook for treating Kornyn with such rudeness, considering that his mind had been tampered with.

And then they saw me, and all of them grew quiet.

A plate was swiftly made, and I sat in the corner to dine. It wasn't the fanciest meal I had ever consumed, but it was delicious and I thanked them profusely before leaving, feeling awful at intruding upon their day – they had all regarded me with such utter suspicion and nervousness, I felt guilty just being in the room.

I sighed, ascending the stairs with Kornyn – who still hadn't remembered why he had been on the hallway in the first place – and reentered my new master's study only to find that the books on the desk had been replaced with ones on magic.

Sighing again, I bid goodbye to my friend and returned to work, almost missing my days of cleaning with my little mage.

**-P****-**

Days were long, and nights were longer – I only saw Danarius every few days, as he seemed to come and go; but every morning, there would be new tomes for me to devour – some on runes, some on mind magic, some on blood magic and enchantments – all arcane in nature. I was expected to read and take notes on each one.

The constants in my life had disappeared yet again – but so was the pattern of my life. Just as I grew accustomed to a place, to the people around me, I was hurdled away from the comfort of familiarity.

There was one mystery solved, however – in the process of studying so many books on magic, I had stumbled across a spell that would, in theory, be capable of ruining a person's memory.

At first, I disregarded the passage – but as time wore on, I grew more interested in the theory – and how it might tie to Kornyn.

_His memory was removed – but his mind seems to have been permanently damaged, as well._ The elf had a queer tendency to forget names and places nearly as fast as he learned them – we sat down for lunch one day, and not an hour later he had forgotten my name and I had to remind him.

_Kornyn...who did this to you?_

**-P****-**

It was a few weeks after my residence in the mansion was initiated that my routine changed – I was summonsed, not to the usual study, but to a larger, open room with little furniture.

Danarius stood in the center, beckoning me forward.

"Taris," Danarius said invitingly. I knew he meant it as my name, but I couldn't help but to be irritated that he did not use the one my mother and father gave me. "Little Fox, come forward."

_Is this why Fenris is so aggravated with me all the time? _The thought of him sent a stab of pain into my heart; I banished all thoughts quickly, trying to stay alert for whatever Danarius had up his robes.

I walked closer, suspicious. There was another girl in the room; she seemed to be the same age as I, though her skin was dark and her eyes stiffly appraising. She raised her chin, turning up her nose in distaste and I rolled my eyes at her antagonistic disposition.

_Little Cunt._

_Please tell me that's _her _nickname._

"This is my other apprentice, Hadriana," Danarius said, ignoring our instant dislike of each other.

"Fight her."

"Excuse me?" I asked before I was knocked off my feet by the kinetic spell sent my way. I slid on my back a few feet, stunned, before I leapt back up, feeling achy. _Not even a warm-up stretch! What the hell?_

And I hadn't practiced combat in _months._

"I have no staff," I barked angrily, barely dodging a spell hurled in my direction. Hadriana was using her bare hands, angling them sharply to point her spells.

"You do not need one," Danarius said impassively, walking off to stand near the wall. "Fight her."

I knew that I did not want him to repeat himself a second time; ignoring my discomfort over meaningless fights, I conjured a ball of fire between my palms. Difficulty rose when conjuring without a staff – but I was not without practice. I had been trained to expect any situation – and even though my unfocused magic was shaky and unrefined, I still managed to hurdle the fireball at the girl; she split it with her fingers, halving it and sending the two halves spiraling in different directions, not even singing a strand of her shoulder-length hair.

Not too shabby.

_Still a cunt, though__._

She even had one of those crinkle-nose sneers on her face.

I had to fight to keep my eyes from rolling again.

I watched her inhale and I sent a wave of nausea at her, smirking when I saw her double over and heave, covering her mouth to keep in the bile.

_Ha._

"You disappoint me, Taris," Danarius said from my right. I did not break my gaze from Hadriana. "You must have learned so much from these past few weeks of study; have you not retained any skills from the books I lent you?"

_It's not like you gave me time to practice them, jackass._

I glared. Stupid books. I reached into the pool of my memory, trying to remember the notes I had taken on all the books I had read.

_Runes. I have nothing to draw with; this knowledge is useless._

_Potions. Again, none at my disposal._

_Spells, I need to remember spells; what spells have I studied?_

_Not many were in those books that did not involve blood magic._ I redirected a lightning bolt that Hadriana sent my way; it would be no great task to defeat her, but pleasing Danarius was another challenge altogether.

_He doesn't want me to just beat her – he wants me to impress him._

I missed a deflection, and a lightning bolt hit me square on the shoulder. I grunted in pain, pushing the bolts away with my hands as shields.

_Fine. You want impressive?_

I broke the chain, ducking and running at her, approaching the situation from a different perspective. I watched her blue eyes abruptly widen; fire immediately erupted from her fingertips, scorching the floors and suppressing my attack.

"Damn it," I hissed, backing away and smelling my new clothes singe.

Danarius chuckled from the sidelines, resting peacefully in a chair. There was an entire informal sitting area behind me, like the room was built for a table tennis match instead of an impromtu dueling ring.

A butler wheeled in a cart and poured him a dainty cup of tea.

_Shithead, _I seethed silently, wishing I could bash his face in for taking everything so lightly.

I blinked as she sent a spell at me. I dismissed it before it landed, watched it fizzle and die before me with a dispersion spell.

I glanced at Danarius out of the corner of my eye.

_Demented ass. Some of the magics in those books are more likely to injure the caster than the opponent._

Scowling, I summoned my willpower.

_I'll give you impressive__._

I inhaled, pulling energy into myself as Hadriana hurled multiple spells my way; I didn't even bother to block them as I absorbed the raw energy into myself, consuming her magic.

_Devorabit Veneficium_

_Lacitus of Marothius studied the art of absorbing offensive magic spells with the intention of redirecting the attained mana__.__ The ability requires a sharp, focused mind and an elastic form shaped predominately within the Fade; a dangerous and insecure magic ability, Devorabit Veneficium is only practiced by magisters of high rank and possesses a long, tiresome history of untimely deaths due to malpractice and misplaced bravado._

Orange flames licked across my skin, and I drew heavily upon the powers of the Fade, my magic tirelessly devouring every spell casted in my direction.

_The extra magic, once absorbed, replenishes lost mana and advances spell effectiveness._

I punched forcefully at the air; a wave of power rippled from my knuckles, expanding once it hit the air – the wave punched straight through the other apprentice's form, knocking her straight back and into the wall with a loud, angry _crunch_.

_However,_

_the power is essentially and unavoidably unstable. Unless the operating mage has mastered an endless sieve pool of mana, the caster's body will permanently be unable to contain the absorbed magic. Devorabit Veneficium will inevitably erupt and fracture the spellcaster internally if the absorbed magic is not effectively repulsed._

My skin trembled with the excess magic; my vision grew dark as my limbs seized, but I forced myself to continue drawing in steady breaths.

_A Hawke will never give up so easily._

The power burned me; erupting from within, and I immediately expelled some of the magic to ease the pain, trying to regain a sense of control. My body felt tight - my own epidermis constricted me, and I had to force myself to move as Hadriana - who had risen from a disheveled heap on the floor - continued throwing slice after slice of magic in my direction.

Feeling full to bursting, I conjured a heavy web of chains – hoping that, with the costly spell, it would reduce some of the uncomfortable, twitchy pain that came with the absorption spell; with a jerk of my palm, I sent them flying at my opponent. Hadriana gasped and ducked, but couldn't evade my conjured binds; they unwaveringly trapped her, restricting all movements.

_Chains of Mu._

_The spell that was conceptualized in the early days of the Imperium, the Chains of Mu is, in essence, a restricting link of chains conjured from the Fade with the intent to capture or restrain. A spell without mercy, the chains not only restrict, but weigh down with the crushing mass of the steel links themselves..._

Hadriana choked as I clamped my fist shut, pinching the chains tighter.

Even though my body – full to bursting with magic - wasn't being fed anymore, I still felt shaky on my feet; pain began to wrack my body in short, pinching bursts, attacking my nerves as the magic began to backfire on me.

_Almost finished._

Distracted by the mind-numbing pain, I didn't notice when Hadriana began sending poorly-aimed spells at me – glancing blows of ice that sliced across my shoulders, but ultimately dealt very little damage.

The real pain arced up my throat; raw power that felt as if it could melt me from the inside out – I released all the pent up magic at once, screaming as it ripped from my body and unloaded upon the young woman across the room. I ran at her, my vision turning sepia; ice slit my cheek, fire scorched my clothing, but my body held through the overwhelming pain of it all.

My accuracy fluctuated, but I endured; Hadriana writhed on the ground, laden with my chains, screaming in perfect agony.

The raw energy I absorbed shot into the apprentice across from me, tearing her asunder. Blood spurted from jagged, horrid wounds, splattering the floor and the ethereal – but so very real - chains.

I dropped to my knees, my mouth open as my chest heaved. Every inch of me ached; drained, I could only pant and watch the girl across from me try to subtly, falteringly heal her wounds from her prone position.

My ears rang.

_What a stupid, stupid woman you are, Marian Hawke._

"Interesting," Danarius called, interrupting the harsh, bleak silence. "Though, your performance needs work." The lingering flames on the ground dissipated as he walked through them. "Your stamina control lacks a certain...depth."

_Ass._

My gaze cut down sharply to Hadriana, and I shuddered, feeling empty and wasted.

_Weak._

Hadriana sniffled and jerked, crying out when the metal scraped across delicate, shorn flesh.

I released my hold on her, and the Chains of Mu disappeared. I slumped over the ground, listening to Hadriana sob in acute pain.

_This is bullshit._

Danarius sighed. "I suppose that's well enough, for our purposes." He contemplated me for a moment. "Be ready in half an hour and meet me in the east wing." His cold gaze lingered on Hadriana. "Hadriana, go home. I am finished with you for today."

She trembled with tears as he left the room; I looked at her, feeling a pinprick of pity. Standing shakily once more, I offered her my hand – wondering if she could stand at all.

Her skin was already scarring over; the brunt of the attack had swiped across her legs, shearing the fabric of her robes and marring her delicate brown limbs. She had begun healing herself, obviously versed in a little bit of healing magic – instead of horrific, bloody gashes, there were merely pink scars razing her legs.

Hadriana spat at my proffered hand, refusing me; disgusted, I wiped her spit from my palm and left her where she lay, limping from the room.

_Be ready in half an hour, he said._

_Is he insane?_

My body raged at me, cursing me for trying one of those stupid magic tricks. The consumption spell sounded really cool on paper – and in theory, it would obliterate the need for blocking and dodging.

But I didn't expect it to _hurt_ so damn much. I limped shakily to the infirmary – which was, blessedly, only a short ways down the hall from the room in which we had fought. Every time I clumsily clipped my side or my legs and arms on a piece of furniture or a corner, I grunted harshly with pain, blinking away the water in my eyes.

My heart beat in my skull, and the air felt sharp against my blistered skin.

_Damn fire._ _Damn fight._

_Damn everything._

_Anything to please the Master,_ I thought snidely, tears stinging my eyes as the pain approached unbearable. _Though I suppose I'm not even his slave. I could have refused him, couldn't I?_

_Cursed hindsight._

It was a miracle that I made it to the door of the medic room at all; it was an even greater miracle that a healer was already present and primed.

And that the medic happened to be Pana – well, that was just a bonus.

She gasped in horror as I stumbled in the room, heaving and rasping, my eyes begging for assistance. My clothes were burned beyond repair – my skin was red and black with blisters and soot, and I had cuts from ice littering my skin.

Most of the damage couldn't be seen by naked eyes, however – I felt the damage from the magic on my very being, making me shiver from the holes it left as it drained out.

_Never, ever do that one again, Marian._

I always knew that my Pana was born to be a healer; she didn't speak, didn't dawdle; she immediately pulled me into the safe, cool haven of the medical room and ushered me to a gurney. She retrieved a remedy for burns and returned to my side within an instant.

She rubbed the cooling ointment on my skin, easing the blistering pains on the surface. She reinforced the ointment with whispers of soft magic through deft, skinny fingers. As the pain drifted away, I also felt the anger, confusion, and betrayal lingering from the past few weeks ease, as well.

_My sweet Panacea – the cure for all of my woes._

_She's already learned more of healing than I have of – well, anything else, really__._

I groaned, rolling my head back and closing my eyes.

_I'm a disgrace._

I worked on evening out my breathing as she did her job; as the pain eased, I felt a peculiar sense of pride taking its place as I noticed the level of care and detail she took when performing her duty.

She reached out and touched my chest with her dainty fingers; I could almost feel her caressing my very _soul_ with her magic – soothing the internal aches that were impossible to see.

_Spirit healer, indeed._

"Pana," I said, sincerely grateful as I rubbed her head, "you're a life saver."

_Maker, I missed this child_. I cracked my eyes to look at her face, automatically noting the differences in her facial features.

It had been some weeks since I had last seen her; her cheeks had filled out, and her hair was almost imperceptibly longer. She would definitely grow into a beautiful young lady.

"You are growing all the time, sweetheart." I smiled at her as genuinely as I could, but the sentiment didn't quite reach my eyes. I leaned up, desiring nothing more than to pull her into a hug – injuries be damned. "I missed you," I said, pulling her close and kissing her cheek.

_The Maker is cruel indeed to put a soul like hers in a harrowing place like Tevinter__._

She bashfully lowered her head when I released her. "I am learning a lot here," she said quietly, peeking up at me through flaxen eyelashes. Her eyes were still the sweet green that I remembered; my smile turned genuine as I noticed the slight flush in her cheeks.

"You look very healthy," I complimented in a murmur. At least she was getting enough food and sleep with Danarius as a master. "It suits you."

"I'm apprenticed to some of the healers that work here," she supplied with a shy smile. Her fingers itched to toy with her hair, but it was up high, held tightly in a neat bun. "I eat with them. They're well-fed to keep up performance."

"I can imagine," I murmured. Danarius certainly wouldn't want his healers off their game. "You will have to teach me a few of these spells you're learning once we get a moment," I said thoughtfully. "It would help, should I ever..." I shrugged and motioned down at my rent, singed clothing. "You know." I poked her shoulder, and she giggled. I achingly crawled off the short bed and onto my feet, patting her shoulder as I turned to the door.

Forgetting Danarius' order would certainly be an experience – but not one that I would wish to have anytime soon. _East wing, in a half hour._

"You're quite the proficient healer," I said over my shoulder, feeling my lips smile but my heart grow heavy as I repeated words I had spoken so many weeks ago.

"Do you have to leave?" she asked timidly, grabbing my hand in her small one. I squeezed it.

"Danarius summoned me again." I scowled. "Maker. And to think, I almost thought that he was better than Fausta." I sighed, popping my neck and loosening some of my joints. "But I suppose Fausta never knew we were mages."

I heard Pana step closer, her hand tightening around mine. "Marian, about that _– why_ –"

"I'm an impulsive person," I said, cutting her off. "The way I've grown up – with the life I've lived – I've learned that hesitation leads to greater disaster." I looked at her over my shoulder, a small, sad smile on my face. "You know, I had a sister."

_Bethany would certainly have liked you._

"Had?" Pana asked, bare feet stepping close. When I didn't extrapolate, she fished for more information. "What happened?"

"Hesitation happened," I said with a sigh. I flipped my hand around to squeeze her. "It's been really nice to see you, Pana; you don't know how much I've really missed you."

To be quite honest, _I_ wasn't sure how much I had missed her until I saw her sweet, thin face. Her eyes glistened with the quiet intelligence of a well-behaved child, and I wanted to clutch her to me in a possessive, protective embrace.

_Danarius isn't mistreating her. You have nothing to worry about._

_For now._

I released her with a sigh. Time to go. "I'll see you some other time, babe. You should come find me for lunch one of these days."

"Like old times?" she called after me, and I could hear the troubled smile in her voice.

"Yeah, hon. Like old times," I replied as the door to the healer's quarters swung shut. My limp was gone, my heart was unburdened by magic; I stepped quickly down the corridor, not wanted to spark Danarius' ire.

My experience with Hadriana was still fresh in my mind as I tread through the mansion; I could only guess that Danarius would have me demonstrate more spells, or possibly draw runes.

_I'll do it, whatever it is._

_You will not get the best of me, old man._

**-P-**

The east wing was silent when I approached, cautiously minding my steps. A properly-dressed butler directed me to a door to the left, and I sighed, running the tips of my fingers over the rips in my new clothes.

_Oh well; I have no time to change into anything presentable._

"Taris," Danarius greeted me. I sighed again, retaining a glare.

"Ser," I grunted, my jaw locked. Danarius laughed.

"Such a dour face," he mused, "and we have barely begun the day. Tell me, is my training program too rough for you, my little fox?"

_Keep dreaming._

"I can handle it," I grudgingly stated, rolling the tension from my shoulders. Danarius offered a patient smile.

_Though my wardrobe may not survive._

"Very well," he said, beckoning me to follow him. "Come," he beckoned, walking away.

I had no choice but to follow him back into the hallway.

"It so happens that I have been in need of an assistant in a few of my experiments," Danarius spoke as we continued down the long, winding corridor. "Tell me, have you ever thought of becoming a magister?"

I tilted my head as we walked; cold air hit me in the face the further we walked as the windows grew further and further apart. He opened a random door to the right and we entered as I contemplated his question.

No – I truly hadn't considered becoming a magister; there were always more important things. Father, for one, would have never accepted abusing other people to gain status – and was that not what magisters did?

_Although, Danarius didn't seem to be so bad_. I hadn't seen him mistreat a slave yet – though he had sent me for a loop earlier in the day, it wasn't anything that my father wouldn't have put me through during an advanced training session.

I would _never_ commit myself to a demon in order to learn blood magic – though maybe, being a magister would not be so bad.

_We wouldn't necessarily have to run away – I could just buy their freedom – or we could all live at _my _estate, and I can run things peacefully and pay all of my servants for their duties instead of owning slaves._

I would be a rather sizable cog in the political machine of the Imperium – _I could start changing things for the better_.

_Or would I grow corrupted and weak, like how Fenris would say all mages inevitably became_?

I held in a grimace at the thought of Fenris – tried to remove him from my mind, but found I couldn't.

"Perhaps once or twice," I answered benignly.

"My, what a difference a few weeks can make," he commented with a smirk. "I remembered a girl telling me that _power corrupts_."

"It does," I defended myself, pursing my lips. "But I'm incorruptible."

Danarius gave a short laugh. "Indeed." He opened another door; this one uncovered a flight of stairs, going down. "Now, I have a few experiments I will require your help with – nothing so daunting, yet I would be loathe to ask anyone else. Do you understand?"

_What you're doing isn't strictly legal and you only want to involve someone who can't exactly say no. Yes, I understand._

"Yes, ser," I said, voice tight.

"I am not going to ask for your help today; I merely want you to observe the side effects of this particular experiment and explain what you're seeing using the knowledge you have acquired within the past few weeks." Our footsteps echoed through the stairwell; I could smell my own trepidation – along with something else, something rank and foul.

He opened a final door, and swiftly stepped through.

I, however, froze in the threshold – horrorstruck.

"Does something bother you, Taris?" Danarius asked politely, looking back at me. I cleared my throat and shakily stepped closer, feeling the blood drain from my face.

_This... this is..._

_No._

A body lay on a stone slab. My eyes raked over him, naked and vulnerable, supine and slightly curled on himself in a tight rigor mortis that bespoke of prior agonies endured.

I choked on the scent of burnt, tainted flesh – the acrid scent implanting itself forever in my mind, the instinct to take flight nearly becoming a force of physical strength that threatened to push me headfirst from the room. Gagging at the sight of the dead elf's demolished skin, peeled back and blackened by chemical burn, I urged myself to stare at his face, terrified for a moment that I would recognize his features.

_Please._

_Please, no._

The all-enveloping fear that hit me in that moment nearly crushed my lungs and heart; my eyes darted over the marred face frantically – his eyes were rolled into his head, his teeth bared in a silent, endless cry in death.

Hands formed shackled claws that tore into the meat of his thigh, disfiguring the already tortured skin. His hair was a stark contrast to the gruesome picture – white and pristine, the pigment drained. His fingernails were yellowed, his skin sallow and decaying where it wasn't torn beyond recognition.

The burnt markings on his skin were a mockery of a Dalish custom of _vallaslin_ – lines normally made by blood were created with harsh lines and crusted, blackened ash.

"_N-_" I began, unable to find my voice.

_How could I have forgotten?_

_Why – why would I ever think that -_

_Is this what awaits Fenris?_

Because the elf on the table was not him – his body thinner, I was certain.

_That's not Fenris,_ I told my rushing, panicked heart. _It's not him._

_It's not him._

_It's not him._

_Oh, thank the Maker, it's not him._

Relieved tears nearly began to streak down my cheeks; I had to avert my eyes to remain composed.

_That is not Fenris._

_But it will be._

_It will be, if I let it happen._

_And to think, that I almost -_

_That I thought -_

I had lost sight of what was most important – of _who_ was most important_._

"No," I finally ground out, clenching my lips. "No ser, it doesn't."

"That's nice to hear," Danarius said cheerfully. "Does that mean I'll have your support for my next experiment?"

My brows furrowed and I felt a fissure grow between my lungs. _Support?_

_As if I had a choice to begin with._

_You're no different than any other corrupted being, _I thought acerbically, fighting hard to keep my rapidly morphing emotions from my face. _No different than me._

_Corrupted._

_Useless._

_Could I really have considered being a magister?_

I nodded quietly, waiting to hear the savage crack as I split in two from pressure and dread.

_Forgive me, Fenris. For now, this is what I have to do._

I needed to see him; I needed to speak with him – it would not end like this.

There was _always_ another way.

"Tell me what you see," Danarius urged, leaving me with proper space. He knew the sight of the elf had shaken me - I could see the faint glint in his eye that _wanted_ me to be shocked and pained by the sight of the dead elf.

_Sadist._

Why did I ever trust that you were an agreeable man?

You are nothing more than a talented actor.

"He was in a lot of pain," I said, and surprisingly, my voice didn't waver. "You are attempting to etch runes into his skin to give him magic – even though he was born without it."

"A whimsical thought of mine," he said, but sighed directly after. "It is a shame that it did not survive the attempt – it was a rather fine specimen, and this procedure _has_ been undergone successfully in the past." He stroked his beard, tugging lightly on the hairs. "A shame, indeed."

_A whimsical thought._

How did I ever fall for his lies?

_No man that can do _– this_ –_

_- to another living_ creature_, no less -_

_No. No._

It may be the correct timeline to follow – it might be the past that is accurate -

But I would be damned if I let _that_ happen to Fenris.

"Excuse me, ser," I said with a short bow, feeling my tattered robes flap with a light draft. "But I believe I need to bathe and dispose of these shorn clothes."

Danarius laughed lightly. "Of course, dear Taris – by all means, be on your way. I merely wanted to show you my most recent project before it is removed."

_It._

I began to realize just how _wrongly_ I had pegged Danarius.

_How could I ever doubt Fenris? He lived with Danarius for years – served directly under him for so long._

_Of course he would have known his prior master better than I would after one conversation._

_I have been such a fool._

I took a deep, calming breath and turned my back on the room of torture. The room reeked of scorched lyrium, and I could hardly imagine the pain of the elf's last few seconds of life.

The thought made me sick.

I could never have imagined such cruelty before, even though I _knew _it would happen.

That's what disturbed me the greatest – that I had been willing to let Fenris undergo such mindless destruction – that I had entertained the thought of letting time progress as it should.

The mixed look of complete terror and utter pain on the elf's face remained imprinted in my mind - an unshakable image that would forever haunt me because of how _easily_ it could adapt to fit another's features – Fenris' features.

When I began making my steady way up the stairs, I had already made up my mind.

I would never – _never -_ allow this to happen to Fenris.

* * *

><p><strong>That's that, then! Tell me what you think – and feel free to lay into me for taking forever to post; I deserve no less. T_T<strong>

**What do you think of the textbook format of the spells up there, when she was battling Hadriana? Because I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with how that scene was written.**


	20. Outtake 2: Fenris

**Takes place directly after the last chapter, actually. C: Wrote most of this in one day because I love you guys and I'm sorry for taking so long. Forgive me?**

Outtake 2  
><strong>Fenris<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Full of broken thoughts<em>  
><em>I cannot repair.<em>  
><em>Beneath the stains of time,<em>  
><em>the feelings disappear.<em>  
><em>You are someone else;<em>  
><em>I am still right here.<em>

_What have I become,_  
><em>my sweetest friend?<em>  
><em>Everyone I know<em>  
><em>goes away<em>  
><em>in the end.<em>

-"Hurt", performed by Johnny Cash

* * *

><p>The dark-haired elf lay covered in a sheet of darkness, his chest slowly rising and falling, his eyes clenched shut in mock rest. Lacerations and bruises crossed his torso; splotches of dried blood and dirt coated his otherwise beautiful olive skin.<p>

A swath of light cut through the dark, and the elf shuddered, his fists clenching.

"This will only take a minute, elf," the human promised as he set his lantern on a nearby table.

The elf made no movement in the affirmative, and the healer set to work. A broken rib was mended, gashes were healed, and some of the meaner bruises were also lessoned to prevent excessive hemorrhaging. All the while, the elf lying flat on the table flinched and strained under the silent pressures of magic, suffering quietly, bearing his pain with an air of pride the likes of which the healing mage rarely had a chance to witness.

The healer _tsk_ed, mumbling half-nonsense beneath his breath. "I have half a mind to beat them to pieces...the way they treat the new ones...not a damn lick of proper training."

Leto had been barraged by attacks, flanked and decimated by guards at every "practice" session; either they were jealous of the favoritism bestowed on Danarius' new champion, or Danarius himself had given the order to completely beat the shit out of him every single day - either way, Leto was barred from any action against the abuse. If the guards were acting of their own volition, they would likely double their efforts if Leto were to speak out - and if it was Danarius' order, he could likely have him executed or punished for being too soft.

Fingers skimmed over his ribcage and he winced again. Even as one of Danarius' favorite pets, he remained slightly underfed and earned little rest. He didn't even receive the dignity of prowling around the estate with the other guards; in his rarely-gifted resting hours, they cornered him into a cold, dark room with the other competitors.

They were all poor company; the hardest fighters - the best survivors - did not make a habit out of making polite conversation with people they would be forced to kill later. They were all formidable, prickly people, made of many races and both genders. Danarius must have offered them each something in return for their services - Leto would never know.

Leto would never care.

A sickly black eye was healed to appear less offensive; a broken toe, stomped by a steel, human boot, was set back into place. A pressure on his cranium, and the ceiling stopped spinning; a wrenched arm righted, a bloodied socket fixed, acoustic trauma to the inner ear repaired.

He lost count of how many days he had endured as one of Danarius' slaves; he saw the moon as often as he saw the sun and the dark holes of the mansion. The sanctioned fights, the ones that garnered interest, and crowds, and cheering, were few and far between; every so often, one of the people in the hole would disappear, and there would just be one less in the dwindling crowd.

Leto realized that Danarius was thinning down his flock of fighters to the most elite bruisers. He hardly lost sleep on wondering why, or to what number the group was being thinned to, but a few of the fighters - previously free men and women, he assumed, the ones that suffered most from the seclusion and loss of freedoms - were beginning to crack, showing signs of mental strain.

A few of them had tried conversing, at first. They made friends, placed bets, hazed the other fighters - the ones who had always been slaves, like Leto - ones who knew their place, knew that it was futile to share confidences.

As the numbers slowly began to decrease, he noticed a pattern; two friends would disappear, and only one would return, haggard and weepy, resisting the inquiries of the others.

Leto was not so foolish; he knew that Danarius could see, that Danarius would _know_. He would make them kill each other because they were too foolish to understand the game.

Some of them fought amongst themselves; a brutish woman was beaten to death in the hole they resided in by two of the other fighters – Leto couldn't pretend to know why, but he knew enough to realize that she was just one less person that he may have to kill – one less competitor.

He refused to mourn any of their deaths, refused to make companions – even though a few of them, in the beginning, had attempted to gain his attention and camaraderie.

They were ultimately unsuccessful.

"Up you go, elf," spoke the mage, who backed from the table. "On your bloody way. Send the next one in."

The elf rose, audible cracking filling the silent room as his joints popped and protested. The mage continued muttering to himself, fiddling with potions on a shelf, complaining about his "layabout coworkers". Leto limped towards the door, feeling sore in places he didn't expect.

Danarius proved to be an extremely domineering master; Fausta, to some extent, had allowed her guards to pick which weapons they wished to employ – among other things. Leto was inherently gifted in wielding thin blades; as an elf, he found he had a difficult time hefting shields and the larger, more intimidating blades.

But oh, Danarius loved intimidation. And Leto was one his announced favorites – as such, he earned ire from the guards and the other competitors alike. When Leto wasn't being beaten to a pulp or fighting in the ring, he was paraded around to Danarius' political adversaries – usually alongside one other fighter, another of Danarius' favorites. He didn't know the fighter's name; he expected Danarius gave her a new one, regardless. She was permitted to use a long, thin staff; it was elegant and deadly, and she was a master with it.

Leto wasn't gifted something so easily used. He didn't know if it was some subtle punishment or retaliation for the incident with - with Marian, but Danarius forced him to fight with one of the most difficult weapons to master. His two-handed claymore was as tall as himself, and it was embarrassing to carry it around over his back, as it dragged the ground and made it difficult to walk upright. Even harder was it to sharpen and clean, the task more time consuming and tedious than with a regular sized saber.

He hadn't known how to even use one - he had no experience with blades of sizable nature, but he had to adapt and learn quickly in order to survive the gruesome fights and "training" exercises. Each fight, he was given a different great sword to heft around; he wasn't allowed enough practice to become a proficient wielder, but he was clever enough to win his fights - barely.

Leto exited the healer's room, forcing the limp out of his leg with a grimace. The wooden door opened with a _creak_; the corridor was lit by candles that sat on side tables and torches that hung on the wall - he didn't shut the door behind him, but held it open for the next patient - the other favorite. She ducked her head beneath his arm, muttering something under her breath as she walked past.

For a moment, he didn't understand what she had said; it had been directed at him, he was certain, but he didn't make sense of the word for a few steps yet.

_Fenris._

She had addressed him as Fenris.

He turned, but of course she had already shut the door and disappeared. Only two people ever called him "Fenris" - it was a name Marian had called him, seemingly believing him to be someone he was not. It was a name she knew he didn't carry, but stuck all the same; a habit that was ironically picked up by Danarius, who began calling him Fenris as a mockery of the mage girl who defied him.

Leto – _Fenris_ - hadn't seen her since the day they came to the mansion; he didn't know what had come of her, in the end. He wondered if Danarius had fallen back on his promise and killed her - even if Fenris couldn't blame him, he still felt a tremor of fear and apprehension at the thought.

He felt as if he hadn't seen her in so long - had she been set free, as he had hoped? He shook his head, sighing. He shouldn't care. She was a liar, and a mage - he would never have a use for her, not in this life.

He turned and began to walk away, pondering the other warrior's use of his new name. Was it so common, now, for him to be addressed as Fenris? He had always been Leto; he knew it was a common practice for slaves to be renamed when they changed hands, but he had never experienced it firsthand.

The stairs gave him vertigo as he looked down upon them; they loomed, and shifted, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He hadn't slept or eaten; he had spent his day being beaten into a bloody pulp in the guard barracks and was subsequently sent up to get tended to.

A familiar brown elf climbed up the stairs across from him. He almost raised his hand in greeting, but stopped halfway; there was no point in addressing this elf by name, not anymore.

He was once a friend. Now, Fenris wouldn't even call him an acquaintance. Kornyn - Alois - barely knew _who_ he was, _what_ he was, _where_ he was - there would be no hope of him remembering Fenris. Fenris painted on another grimace and walked on, bearing the pain as it came - physical, and internal. Kornyn had been a good friend; it had come as a shock, at first, when he first laid eyes on him - the last Fenris saw him, he was bleeding out on a ballroom floor - but Kornyn didn't remember him or anything at all. His eyes were glazed, his smile thoughtless and untroubled, unburdened by intelligence.

Fenris couldn't bother finding pity; perhaps regret, or jealousy. He bore too much on his mind; he missed Marian, berated himself for such feelings – only to pine harder.

He had never experienced anyone like her before - he doubted he ever would. He listened with a keen ear while he walked - or limped, as it may be - around the mansion during his short trips from the medical room and back down, listening for a whisper of her voice, a hint of laughter in the stillness of the rooms.

Fenris was allowed at least one meal a day - and he planned to take that meal, as no one was hounding him to continue training or to dive into the fighters' hole. He went to the large room where the slaves and guards took their meals; the food was left out all day, waiting for a slave or guard to come by at their designated time to eat.

Those who ate early in the morning got the best food; served hot, and fresh. But it was late, and the food had since grown stale and cold. Fenris couldn't find it in him to care; food was food, and he was hungry enough to not be picky. He picked up a bowl and a roll and took a seat on a stool, eating quickly, lifting the bowl and dumping it into his gullet. A few guards were speaking and laughing a few yards from him, but they hadn't seemed to notice his presence, yet. He kept his eyes on them, watching. He wouldn't run - but he wouldn't be caught off guard, and in the middle of a meal.

"...new one Danarius has been hoarding off," one of them said, scratching his prickly beard. Fenris rubbed a hand over his own smooth chin, narrowing his eyes at the differences between races. "Pretty little slip of a thing, not all fat and round like the other mages."

"You think Danarius plays with her?" asked another, snickering.

"I haven't seen her," said another suspiciously. "Are you sure you ain't full of shit?"

"I shit you not," the first one said, raising his hand. "A sweet thing, with big blue eyes and that dark hair that the Nevarrans got."

This perked Fenris' attention. He raised his head, his tired green eyes regaining life and energy as they cut to the face of the one speaking, recognizing the description.

Someone scoffed. "Nevarrans aren't pretty, Jes. You're full of it."

"I didn't say she was Nevarran, did I? I said she had the hair. She's too white to be one of 'em." He took a bite of hard bread and repositioned his legs, clearing his throat. "She a mage, though. Saw her do a right trick with her hands."

The others burst into laughter at the dirty insinuation. Fenris almost growled, disgusted and irritated by their behavior.

"Don't be messing with her," advised one of the older men. "She ain't yours. She's Danarius'."

"I know, I know," said Jes, raising his hand. "I ain't gonna touch the bitch. Mages aren't worth the damn trouble, if you ask me."

A few others agreed; Fenris stood, having heard enough. He abandoned his bowl and ate the rest of his bun, leaving the room as quickly as possible, trying not to spark the guards' interest. They continued gossiping about mages and conquests as he made his way out of the room and back to the hole where the fighters' slept.

He wouldn't be caught wandering the mansion on his own; he'd seen men and women punished and thrown back into the hole to sleep off their injuries for such behavior. It wasn't advised or permitted; they didn't have time to waste, because all of their time belonged to Danarius.

However, _thoughts do not._ Fenris couldn't get his mind off the images the men had placed in his head – of the magic-wielding, dark-haired woman.

_Marian._

_So she lives._

He felt a twinge of relief – springing in tandem with a modicum of fear.

_Mage._ In his experience, mages were harsh, power-hungry individuals with no respect for any fellow man – Fenris found it impossible to reconcile the connotations for _mage_ with his denotation of _Marian._ Sweet and gentle – never cruel – very unlike all the magisters he had ever witnessed.  
><em><br>_The cognitive dissonance he experienced struck him sideways – though, that may have been the intense lance of pain up his ribs from exerting himself on the stairs.

_The staggering look of betrayal-_

_The bright flash of ripping fire-_

_"Don't take him."_

_Why?_

He wanted better for her – he wanted her to regain the eagerly anticipated _freedom_ she seemed to crave – though, that was before he realized what she was.

_What is she, precisely?_ A mage? A human? A twisted creature of the Maker's flawed design?

And yet, he couldn't believe it. He had surrendered everything for the human girl – a girl who, try as he might, would not remove herself from his thoughts. Marian remained the only person capable of wedging herself beneath his skin; she peered through his defenses with the most innocent of looks, caressed his mind with the barest of whispers – how could he see her as anything short of beautiful?

_Hurt, unlike any expression he had ever seen her face bear-_

_"You mean a lot to me," she said quietly, eyes shifting bashfully from his face to the floor and back again. Her face colored at her own words, tainting her skin pink-_

_"Whose fault is this," the blue-eyed mage's voice quivered and broke, "Leto?"_

_Leto._

_Leto._

Marian had lied to him.

_She called me Leto._

She threw away the precious gift of freedom.

_You didn't fight for her when she needed you._

She never told him that she was a mage – after all of their months together, after all of the soft touches and careful caresses – she never _once_ mentioned_-_

_She fought for you_.

Fenris couldn't understand why the mage would throw away her freedom so carelessly; autonomy seemed to be the only topic she would forever speak of.

_Because she couldn't bear the thought of leaving without you._

Fenris rejected that thought the moment it formed in his mind – no; she had another motive.

_She must._

_Perhaps she wished to serve under Lord Danarius._  
><em><br>_But no – Marian had begged for Danarius to not take him; to let them go.

_She begged for you._

Fenris sighed and opened the door that led to the competitors' quarters. The freedom of movement throughout the mansion was rarely granted; he was supremely appreciative for the quiet moments to himself for contemplation.

Only a few of the other fighters were present in the room – that seemed well enough; he could do without the din they could sometimes create between them. Weariness crept into his bitter soul as he collapsed against the hard, cool wall, relaxing his shoulders and closing his eyes in the dark room, ignoring his future competitor's snores.

He would hardly admit it to himself, but he found that he missed the quiet moments they had once shared, tucked away in the crevices of Mistress Fausta's mansion – his head pillowed by her lap while long, slender fingers gently carded through his hair. He desired the comforting silence of her presence – the subtle warmth of her smile and the sweet softness of her hands as they caressed his face.

No, he hadn't seen the mage since they were separated that first day in the mansion – but he had seen the young elf Pana on more than one occasion. He often found himself lying on a bed in the infirmary, aching and bleeding – and she would be there, tending to minor wounds and being subtly instructed by the senior mages.

Pana was very obviously being treated with more care than Fenris – she looked radiant, and appeared skilled, despite hiding her magic for most of her life; she would respond to demands before they were even made, quick to decipher the needs of her patient.

Fenris wanted to tell her how talented she was; he wanted to praise her for being so adept.

The words, however, stung acerbically in his mouth; he could never release them for fear of poisoning the air.

She reminded him so much of his sister.

She reminded him so much of Marian.

Sleep came rapidly to the weary warrior; plagued by thoughts of mages and betrayals, his last thought was of a rapidly fading memory – the scent of skin, a flash of blue; relished kisses teasing his lips.

**-L-**

Fenris received an odd order – to attend to Lord Danarius in his study while he worked. His days were filled with pain and violence – to have a day where the biggest strain would be sitting in one position for hours was markedly unprecedented - and overall, a welcomed change in atmosphere.

For most of the day, he rested in a dark corner of the room – his head bowed respectfully and his body held in a submissive fashion. Dark bangs fluttered across his vision, reminding him that he needed to cut the locks to keep his vision from being impaired.

Throughout the morning and noon, Fenris would be called upon by Danarius to fetch things or hold objects for his master – but he always returned to his shaded corner, quiet and contemplative.

He knelt on his knees, eyes closed in relaxation – his knees were sore after hours of kneeling, but the minor pain felt like nothing compared to the brutal beatings he would be facing at the hands of his trainers. In the quiet time of reflection – with only the scratching of his master's quill to distract him – he thought of the past.

_One hand on his, the other on his shoulder._

_Twirling; humming – a blushing face, a sweet song – a trampled foot, a hasty apology, slow smiles and bright, happy eyes._

_Screaming; the sharp crack of a whip – endless counting as streaks of red lashed themselves across pale, perfect skin._

_Horrible, soul-crushing guilt._

The door creaked open, and a single long, pointed ear twitched – but Fenris, ever disciplined, did not so much as cock his head.

Soft footsteps were heard as the person entered the room – barefoot. Robes swished as they tread forward – mage.

"I've done what you asked," spoke a clear, polite soprano. Fenris jerked, but made no sound; his eyes rose beneath dark bangs to peer at the only woman who had ever monopolized his thoughts. "Though it is not a spell easily mastered."

The silent slave stared at the young woman, observing every changed inch of her – her hair had grown slightly longer, and seemed more voluminous – it shown with cleanliness, healthy and full; her eyes were dull, ringed with bruises that bespoke of long, empty nights – but her face was clean, and free of any marring blemishes or cuts; she was completely clothed – more clothed than he had ever seen her – and the effect of a full dress made her seem regal; untouchable.

His hand twitched, itching to reach out and touch her.

_Beautiful._

Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the bottomless black of her hair; her lips were a full pink, pouting slightly as Lord Danarius replied by assigning her another task.

She turned on her heel – completely ignoring Fenris' side of the room – and was suddenly gone once more.

Master Danarius cocked his head, raising a brow at his new young slave in the corner.

Fenris shrank below the gaze; bowing his head again, he attempted to remove any of his master's unwanted attention by regaining his stoicism.

_Master Danarius already knows we have an attachment for one another,_ he argued in his mind. _But Marian – she would have been long gone by now, had she taken the chance she was given. I would have surrendered her immediately if she had fled when she should have._

_But no – she's too stubborn for such trivialities._

Fenris almost smiled – but clouded his face, not enjoying the thought of bearing any emotion easily observed by the naked eye.

Not that a mage wouldn't be able to sense his emotions – distrust slithered into his veins as he tried to quiet his thoughts and mask his feelings – but the confusion, the needs he felt could not be subdued.

He could accept that he and Marian would never be – he _had_ accepted that. He had been willing to let her go – release her to live her life on the other side of the cage - however, as he was coming to realize, she would not be dictated. He had no more control over her actions than a mortal over the sun; a mortal man could shout and curse the sky, but the sun would move only as it wished - gracing man with its light before waning away into the horizon.

Danarius' eyes lingered for a moment on his pet before sliding away, back to his paperwork. Fenris rested, calming his frayed nerves.

_It doesn't matter._

He exhaled deeply – silently. He attempted to relinquish the petty fear within him, reducing his woes to miniscule trifles.

As a slave, the only thing that Fenris should be concerned with was pleasing his master. Even if he could afford to be bothered by anything else – by a human girl – he should not be.

After all, she hadn't sought him out – she had turned a cold shoulder on him, distracted herself, called him _Leto_.

_She should be the only one to call me Fenris – yet, she is now the only one to call me Leto._

_She no longer cares for you._

_She is a mage; mages are fickle creatures._

His head bowed lower in an ephemeral movement as another, invisible weight slumped his shoulders. He could no longer remember why he fought; why he competed. None of it mattered, in the grand scheme of the Maker.

_I am merely a wasting slave, cowering before my master._

**-F-**

The sun waned high; Fenris did nothing to shield himself from its glare, knowing that if it chose to burn him, he would not be spared from its might.

_She will do as she pleases._

The audience, thirsting for blood, began to jeer as they saw the lithe, lean elf step onto the hot, baking sand. The dark-haired elf clutched a halberd – the weapon strapped over his shoulder, weighing him down, slowing his movements with the cursed weight.

He was unsure of his effectiveness when wielding the damned thing; elves were swift and nimble – but encumbered with the dead weight of his weapon, his reflexes dulled and his muscles strained twofold. Combined with the fact that he hadn't received proper training, his chances of surviving the upcoming battle were admittedly slim.

_There is no point in this senseless slaughter._

He had already given up – he had surrendered his victory a week ago when he spotted Marian and realized he had nothing left to contest for.

Sun glinting in his eyes, he raised his head to view Master Danarius as he took his seat beside a few other magisters in a box reserved for the prestigious onlookers – and he did a double take when he saw a pale, shadow-haired mage standing beside his master's chair.

_No._

She couldn't be there-

The fights were brutal and scarring; his breath hitched as he thought of her witnessing such a senseless fight. The crowd roared as the other competitors entered the sandpit of the arena, weapons in hand.

He immediately knew why Danarius brought her there – why he presented her in such an easily viewed place.

Her presence was to be a reminder – a reminder of why he was fighting, for _whom_ he was fighting.

_Marian._

_If I refuse to fight, what will become of her?_

He swallowed thickly as an unforgiving vice gripped his chest. He had no desire to fight – but the thought of surrendering, only for Marian to suffer for his ill choice-

He gripped the handle of his halberd tightly, swinging it around awkwardly to face the oncoming battle.

He must fight. There would never be another option; fighting, protecting, advancing – such was the life of Fenris, the slave.

A horn was blown; a crowd shouted in unison, creating a confusing, thought-shattering din that disrupted his concentration.

_I must win_, he thought, angling his weapon between him and the other fighters.

There were three other men, besides himself – he only recognized one; the other two were presumably people that Danarius bought on a whim or slaves that other magisters gifted him for this particular fight.

He prepared himself to defend against the fighter adjacent to his position – only to be startled and alarmed when all three began to close in upon him at once, raising their weapons to attack only Fenris.

Too late, did he realize that the upcoming unfair fight – and Marian's presence – wasn't a lesson for _him_.

It was a lesson for _her._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Forgive me yet?<em>  
>And don't worry; the last line will be explained in the next chapter (hopefully, bahaha!).<strong>


	21. 17 Lingering Silence

_**Two people forgive me! It seems I'll have to earn everyone else's forgiveness by uploading more chapters.**_

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><p><em>"...moi j'ai besoin d'espoir. Sinon je ne suis rien."<em>

-Natacha Atlas "Mon Amie la Rose"

Translation_: I need hope. Otherwise I am nothing_.

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><p><strong>17. Lingering Silence<strong>

The trek back to my room was a long and silent one; I felt my face grow pale as my mind kept wandering back to the elf on the stone slab. My footfalls made little noise as I climbed the stairs, leaving Danarius in his dungeon to observe his dead experiment by himself; my fingers trembled at my sides, and I had to blink back tears that formed from the dead weight of dread that settled deep in my chest.

_Fenris..._

I loathed myself for ignoring him - for trying to forget him.

_What happened to us? _Was it merely the lies? The stubbornness?

_I needed him and he turned his back on me_.

But did he, really? He did _everything_ for me. He bought my freedom.

_But I didn't want it like _this.

I envisioned Fenris on the stone slab - paying the price for _my_ sake - and I shuddered, my hands clenching into tight fists at my side. I forced my fingers to relax in order to push open the door that lead back to the heart of the East wing.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself further, making an effort to plaster a serene expression on my face - contradicting everything I had experienced since coming to this time.

I desperately wished that I could _forget_ Fenris - that I could forget his sacrifice, that I could lose that piece of me that wouldn't let me move on and prosper - but that would be a direct insult to who I was.

_I am Marian Hawke, and I will never leave a friend behind_.

To brush off Fenris' plight was to cut off my own arm - to sever my own artery; for better or worse, he was a part of me.

Feeling empty and exhausted, I finally made it to my room; with a heavy sigh I opened the door and shut it quietly behind me.

_Such a long day_, I mused, rubbing my face; my eyes burned and my muscles ached - all I truly desired was a hot bath.

_I must speak with Fenris_, I concluded as I stripped and prepared my bathwater. My clothes were destroyed - I wondered idly what would be done with them. _He needs to know what danger he's in_.

_He needs to know that I'm sorry_.

**-LS-**

The fight with Hadriana was hardly an isolated incident; we were ordered to fight each other at least twice a week in order to put into practice what we had learned.

I learned spells and tricks for combat magic very quickly - but Danarius never seemed to be impressed with my progress; even though I won every match against the young woman, he would merely _tsk_ and order me to study harder.

_Prick._

He also sent me down to the courtyard to practice hand-to-hand combat; an odd request, since mages rarely had use for the sword - but my father had trained me alongside Carver as well as Bethany, so I had an affinity for swordsmanship.

That said, I routinely got my ass kicked by my instructor.

Other than a few tricks and a few dagger skills, I didn't learn much; most of my learning capacity was already spent on magic and all the damned studies Danarius forced me into.

Throughout the lessons in the courtyard, I kept a sharp eye out for the green-eyed, dark-haired elf who was prepared to give up his life for a mage girl - but I never even caught a glimpse of him.

_Where does Danarius keep you, Fenris?_

I wondered if he had ever gone looking for me in the mansion - if he had kept his ears open for my name as I had for his.

_He probably hates me, anyway._

I grimaced wryly and dodged a training dagger that had been thrown at my head - I had to keep the reflex to release magic under lock and key throughout the duration of the hand-to-hand combat practices.

"Nice dodge," commented my trainer as he relaxed his offensive position before me. "But you favor your right side when you parry."

"My right side, you say?" That made sense. My left side felt battered and bruised; I prodded it and winced. "I could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway," I declared with a grimace, my mind elsewhere, on elves and rituals and the future. "Feel free to lop my left side off."

My trainer belly laughed, wiping his brow; he had dark skin and a yellow smile. "A plan for weight loss, you say? You might lose more than you bargained for." He straightened himself and stretched, popping the joints in his arms. "Go on, then; we're done here."

I nodded and stepped backwards, out of the baking sun and into the shaded area of the expansive courtyard. The air smelled of honeysuckle and running water from the fountains and creeping vines; I inhaled deeply, briefly laying my fingers beneath my clavicle before removing them, not wanting to draw attention to the spot.

Beneath my robes and pressed against my skin was a rumpled brown flower, old and faded, loved and thumping with the beat of a heart only inches away.

**-LS-**

Through the endless days of constant strenuous activity, I wore down and cracked. I didn't see Danarius much, be he seemed to have endless tasks for me to complete.

Whenever I saw him, I was usually dueling someone – Hadriana or one of my trainers, or someone else's apprentice.

I only saw Fenris when I closed my eyes.

Each time my lids slid shut after a long day of training and studying, I would see him; his emerald eyes would flash, the edge of his mouth would quirk up and those long, slender ears would twitch when he met my gaze.

In most of my visions, the Fenris would be dark-haired and unmarked. This Fenris would have a sweet smile; his tough exterior had to be cracked a little, but underneath the mildly hardened surface was the careful protector who would patiently - shyly - wait for me to come to him.

When this vision of Fenris would come, I squeezed my tiny, bruised flower in my palm, holding it close. It no longer held any distinguishable scent - but its meaning was far greater than just a mere smell. The flower was a memory - a memory of my reason for continuing.

_Don't forget Fenris. Don't forget, most of all, what he's done for you. _

_What he will be willing to do for you_.

The vision of my young Fenris would nearly cause me to weep with regret and an overburdened heart from knowing what his future would hold for him.

Other nights, I would see Fenris as I first met him - stoic and proud, cutting and with jagged edges that spurned when one approached with ill prepared fingers. This Fenris had ghostly white hair that seemed to glow in moonlight; my fingers would twitch, itching to run through it, to check and see if it felt as soft as it appeared. The lyrium lines on his flesh would glow and simmer, and he remained constantly alert for any signs of betrayal or attackers.

This Fenris would not meet my gaze - would not accept my touch. He would back away, the flesh-piercing gauntlets clenched tightly - unapproachable, prickly and prideful.

When I woke, I would contemplate the differences in behavior between the two of them - because, although they were the same man, they both treated me differently.

The Fenris of the future was a hardened man who seldom let down his walls - almost as much could be said for the Leto of this time, though his walls were much more easily overcome. I remembered doing everything in my power to break Fenris out of his shell - it didn't seem healthy for him to retreat inside himself so coldly, to shut everyone out. I had thought that I was making progress - until that one night.

The night of too much drinking at the Hanged Man, and subsequent rutting in my foyer. Fenris regretted the encounter - he must - but I could never prod him enough to admit _why_ he was uncomfortable with it.

We were adults, we were both consenting - even if we had been a little drunk.

The only answer I could come up with was that Fenris was smitten with Isabela - and I could hardly blame him for _that_. I had seen her once or twice as she walked out of his bedchambers - but I had never assumed -

Perhaps that was the true difference between the Fenris of the future and the Fenris of the past.

This Fenris cared for me.

My heart ached whenever I thought of it, but I had to acknowledge the fact that he was willing to give up his way of living - and possibly his very _life_ - for _me_. This Fenris yearned not for his own freedom, but for mine - and I almost threw him away for not telling me about his plans. I felt petty and stupid; I condemned him for not trusting in me enough to speak plainly to me, yet I had found myself unable to have faith in him - faith that he would do all that he could to protect me.

_I should have known everything to begin with - I may not know everything that happened between Danarius and Fenris at this time, but I knew it had to happen._

The opportunities that had passed us by sickened me.

_We should have escaped months ago._

_Where have we ended up, now?_

Stuck in limbo, upset with each other and unable to meet - and careening toward certain doom.

_When Danarius performs that experiment on my Fenris, I'm going to lose him_.

That would be the truth of it. Even though we were on shaky ground _now_, I knew that there would _be_ no ground once his skin was poisoned with lyrium.

Which would lead me to believe that I would have to stop Danarius - or at least halt him until we could make our escape.

But we couldn't escape until we met up with each other - and he wouldn't meet with me if he was still angry at me.

_I'm sorry._

_You have no idea how much._

I recalled the acrid smell of the scorched elf on the stone slab of a table and sighed, pressing my fingertips against my mouth in deep thought.

_That can't happen to Fenris. Not this time._

_The Fenris of the future will never be - and I will make sure of it_.

I hoped that I was doing the right thing.

**-LS-**

"Is there something wrong, Taris?" asked Danarius without looking up from the papers on his desk. A long, finely-engraved staff leaned against the wall behind his desk; I stared at it, looking anywhere but at the man who controlled my life.

"Not quite, ser," I spoke quietly, staring blankly ahead.

"Then what is it?" he inquired a little impatiently, pulling out a quill and inkwell to sign a paper.

"I would like to request that I am not called to assist you with your experiments," I said, ramrod straight.

_I can't do that._

_I can't see that happen - can't be a part of that._

"Why would you request such a thing?" Danarius finally raised his head to see me; a spark of irritation flashed through his eyes – though I might have imagined it. "You are aware of what you could learn from the experimentations?" Eyebrows rose. "Is my little fox unsettled by the sight of pain?"

"No, ser; that isn't exactly why I'm requesting my absence from the proceedings." I fidgeted, wanting to rub the flower pinned inside my robes but not wanting to call attention to it, either.

_Although, what kind of person _isn't_ unsettled at the sight of pain?_

"Why, then?" He leaned onto his desk, peering closely at me. I couldn't meet his eye.

His chin rose; unreadable steel blue eyes stared me down for what felt like hours of loaded silence. "It's because of my warrior, isn't it?"

My muscles clenched and I lowered my head - not giving any positive indication.

A low chuckle sounded in the room and I looked up again to see him rising from his seat. "How intriguing, that after all this time you still remain infatuated with the elf. Do you even know if he still lives?"

_He must._ My mouth tightened into a grim line.

"You haven't sought him out a single time since you have arrived," Danarius said, walking around his desk. He leaned against the heavy wood, still staring down his nose at me. "You haven't asked of him, his whereabouts, his health. Are you sure you want to throw away this opportunity for basic research? For growth?" He shook his head. "You have never shown hesitation before, Taris - you have studied what I have told you to study, fought who I told you to fight, and learned what I told you to learn." His dry lips quirked. "You have been an exemplary student."

The first praise that I had ever been given from my Lord.

I looked away, at the floor to my right, not trusting myself to say anything.

_I've thought about being your apprentice, Danarius. Of forgetting everything else, becoming a magister – living my life as Taris instead of Marian._

_But I can't be anything other than myself; to try would be to lose the essence of who I am._

Danarius sighed. "Taris, I'm disappointed in you. You have the ability to become a powerful mage, yet you insist upon fighting me every step of the way."

I remembered scrubbing off the acrid scent of burnt flesh, the hollow feeling of horror in my chest as I saw the dead elf frozen in his last few moments of terror and agony.

"I can't do that," I whispered, lowering my head further. "I can't."

_I can't be cruel._

_I can't be _you.

Danarius sighed again; I glanced up, spying his feathery gray beard before I met his gaze. What I saw there sent a chill down my spine - his eyes were hard, cold, and calculating - as if he were trying to sum up my soul to calculate what would get me to bend to his will.

"I am afraid that I must ask you to reconsider," he said, and held up a staying hand before I could speak. The look disappeared from his eyes and was replaced by his normal unreadable expression - but the ice that crawled down my back from the previous look couldn't be shaken. "I don't believe you quite understand the situation, my dear - you are an invaluable asset to me and I have selflessly bestowed upon you countless opportunities; I bought your freedom and have trained you without repayment." A gaunt face smiled at me, arousing the memories of the days I fought the blood-chilling darkspawn. "I want you to take all of this into consideration; I may yet say the correct phrase to get you to change your mind."

I forced a ghost of a smile to wander across my face. "As you say, ser."

_Don't bet on it._

"You may have your leave," he said graciously, nodding to the door. I backed away, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"And Taris," Danarius spoke, causing me to pause. I cocked my head sideways, spying the tip of his boot and the edge of his blue robes out of the corner of my eye. "Do consider changing your mind. It would be inconvenient to lose a pawn this late in the game."

I nodded, my heart beating faster as I continued through the door as slowly as I could. When the door shut behind me, I allowed myself to tremble and exhale unsteadily in an effort to calm myself.

_What the hell did he mean by that?_

The bad feeling inside of me festered until I built up a paranoia that would put Fenris to shame.

**-LS-**

"Again."

I lifted my stiff limbs as quickly as I could, but not quickly enough – a full gust of force magic hit me in the dead center of my chest, knocking me off my feet. My back hit the hard floor with a heavy _thunk_, and I groaned, stretching my limbs in an effort to try and regain agility. I wiped my forehead, swiping away sweat and sticky black hair.

"Too late _again_, Taris," chided my instructor; a wrinkled, old elf with jade eyes and a pissy attitude.

"I know," I retorted, peeved. I crawled back onto my legs, hearing every joint in my body protest and pop. I knew when I was at my limit – I had been going full force all day, and my body was finally telling me to quit. "We're done here." I spoke with a tone of finality, irritated and bruised.

"Lord Danarius will be –"

"Lord Danarius can eat it," I seethed, stalking away from the scene. My new magic instructor was responsible for teaching me certain techniques that were hard to grasp with merely the use of a textbook or tome; today, he had been instructing me on how to block a frontal attack with magic alone – and without a focus.

I suffered numerous attacks, only managing to block a few – I parried _one_ and sent it flying back at the attacker – and was, for the most part, pummeled by an array of magic.

_If my performance seems a little shitty today, perhaps it's because of all the other _projects_ I'm made to do._

Reading and copying tomes until the early morning – mimicking enchantment runes, even though mages couldn't enchant _anything_ – fighting hand-to-hand in the morning, fighting Hadriana before lunch – _skipping lunch_ to finish transcribing notes from the tomes I didn't finish the night before – and then being forced to withstand an afternoon of getting knocked off my ass until I couldn't _function._

"I'll have to note that you disobeyed your instructions," tsked my teacher. I waved my hand, not taking a second glance behind me.

I walked into the building from the courtyard, knocking dust from my robes. After being knocked off my feet so many times, I seemed to be coated in a generous layer of dusty dirt.

It was a rarity that I was granted a lull in between assignments – and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it.

_Perhaps not "exactly" – but beggars can't be choosers._

The walk to the top floor grew longer and longer each time I forced my legs to climb it – why would Danarius put all of the _extremely_ necessary rooms so far up? I sighed when I reached my destination – the healer's room.

I knocked on the door and smiled when a bright faced Pana opened it. She immediately clasped her arms around me in a tight hug.

"Hi, Marian," she said, her face pressed into my stomach. She removed herself and glanced up at me, her blonde hair falling into her eyes.

I pushed her bangs out of her face. "Lunch?" I offered, pointing my thumb over my shoulder.

She nodded and I grabbed her hand, pulling her behind me to head back down the stairs – again.

_The things I do for this girl._

I knew that my thoughts were all talk – because when I looked at her youthful, carefree smile, the unfortunate situation I found myself in seemed to melt away.

**-LS-**

It was a few days more until I saw Danarius again – he sent a slave by my room in the early morning to tell me to be dressed impeccably and lightly, and to be downstairs by breakfast.

I spied an elegant carriage outside the doorway when I descended the stairs in my royal blue robes. "Where are we going?" I asked politely, walking over to Danarius, who was dressed in light gray robes and stood beside another man with a graying goatee.

"To watch a little game of mine," he replied lightly, ushering forward his guest and then myself. "Shall we?"

"Danarius, you're being far too posh," the stranger said, pausing to help me into the carriage. I thanked him quietly for assistance as I settled into place.

"These "little games" of Lord Danarius' have been going on for some time," the man said once we were all seated in the shaded carriage. The sun had yet to rise very high in the sky; the air remained crisp. "They've garnered so much attention that they're now held in official coliseums – they're marvelously entertaining."

"I see," I said, not seeing any point at all. Danarius was taking me out for a public social gathering? It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, but he usually liked to limit how many people I was around.

_Yes, Danarius. I can tell you like to control me._

I wanted to know why I was invited – for Danarius to show me off to his fellow senators? He had mentioned something about a game to me earlier – could that be related?

_He said to rethink my decision, and that he didn't wish to lose a pawn in his game. Is he going to give me to another magister?_

_Do apprenticeships in the Imperium work that way?_

I was at such a disadvantage; I hardly knew the culture that I was thrown into – _what was that damn antiquarian _thinking_ when he sent me here?_

The two magisters chatted idly beside me as the carriage smoothly carried us further along the road; after a few minutes of empty, barren fields I began to see signs of a town; small hovels and dirty children playing in the roads, merchants plying their wares and numerous people corralling towards one place. When I edged my head closer to the window, I could see a massive circular building a small ways off.

_The coliseum, then?_ My interest piqued as the sun slowly climbed across the sky to tower above; Danarius kindly informed the other magister and I that we were to sit beside him in his private box, where he would have a full brunch prepared for our consumption.

When we arrived, I hastily exited the grand carriage to wonder at the magnificent piece of architecture before us; the experience was oddly humbling, to stare up at something so wondrous and gigantic and feel miniscule in comparison.

Danarius entered without preamble – probably having seen the sights of this city far too often – and after a few beats of my heart I followed, wondering just what I would be getting myself into today.

_He must be upset with me – I assume this is normally a trip that he would take by himself,_ I thought as I ascended the cool, shaded steps past the gate of the coliseum. I almost instinctively began to wade into the growing crowd that meandered into the stands, but was called back by Danarius, who glided up several flights of stairs; I trailed behind, slowly growing damp with sweat. _He's usually gone from the manor – does he host these fights often?_

The sun waned directly overhead when we broke through the dark stairwell and back into fresh air; we were high above the coliseum, perfectly aligned to see every detail of the "game" that was certain to come.

As promised, there was an outlandish feast of a brunch prepared – _only the finest for Lord Danarius_, I thought sarcastically, looking over the banisters and down at the sandpit and crowds below. A dull roar of chatter echoed through the stadium and I shrugged uncomfortably in my dark robes, wishing I had chosen a lighter color to endure the heat with.

I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun, still guessing at the game Danarius was playing. _This must be some form of punishment – or a way to persuade me._ I couldn't shake the feeling that told me that this wasn't a normal trip – or game, for that matter. _He has something to say to me, or I wouldn't be here._

Just what do you mean by all this, Danarius?

A bell rang, startling me; the guest magister laughed at how I jumped, and I turned to give him a bashful smile before immediately returning my attention below. Men clad in glinting metal armor entered the sand pit, and the crowd released a mighty, piercing roar at their presence.

I squinted, trying to pick out the different figures on the sand. One fought with a sword and shield; another with a mace – and another with two short swords. The one with two swords seemed shorter than the others – but stockier.

Finally, another tall, lithe figure strode onto the sand with a humongous axe strapped to his shoulder. A small quiver of fear tingled down my spine, along with a creeping sense of realization.

I narrowed my eyes, peering down at the men on the field. The one with the biggest weapon turned, and though he wore a helmet, I could tell exactly who the man was.

_Fenris. _My eyes widened; I had to freeze my limbs to keep myself from turning to stare incredulously at Danarius. _This is what he wants me to see? Fenris competing?_

Upon seeing the sinister weapons, I had no doubt as to what kind of "games" these were – and I hoped the mortality rate wasn't as high as I feared.

I nearly smirked; _the joke is on you, Danarius._ Fenris was an impressive swordsman; there would be no downplaying his abilities in combat – seeing him fight would only bolster my courage to fight back.

I could see as he measured the abilities of the other men, deciding which one to go at first; he looked over his shoulder once and did a double take when he spotted me.

I tried to hold his gaze, but we were too far away – he noted me, and that was enough.

_Perhaps there is hope for us after all._

_This is one lesson that will backfire_, I thought, relaxing. Danarius took his seat, sipping on a full glass of chilled water. I had to force myself to pay attention to the fight so I wouldn't sass my Lord; I watched as Fenris gripped the handle of his weapon and swung it around to face his opponents.

The crowd screamed when the first leap was given – at some invisible signal – and the warriors converged on each other; the sight gave me an unexpected rush of feeling and my heart pounded at the excitement.

Two men went straight for Fenris – one kicked his legs while the other dealt a heavy stroke with a mace against his (thankfully guarded) chest, sending him sprawling backwards – the third man bashed him with a shield while he was down, and a frown plastered itself onto my face.

_Surely they don't generally gang up on one competitor…? That hardly seems fair._ I finally glanced back at Danarius, waiting to see when he would acknowledge the injustice and call them off.

He wasn't watching the fight; only my reaction. When he saw my face, his lips twitched indiscernibly.

I whirled immediately back around to watch the fight when the crowd chorused together in shock; Fenris' helmet had been beaten off and an arc of red splattered the sand. His weapon rose as he pushed himself away from the other fighters; he parried one blow and sliced heavily through the shoulder of his attacker in retaliation before kicking away and returning to shaky feet.

I leaned forward and gripped the banister before me, wanting to cry out with the crowd but restraining myself. His head bled profusely, and I worried that the blood would interrupt his vision.

I could do nothing but watch as the three men – the one Fenris had struck returned to his feet as well, though his wound seemed to be far worse than Fenris' – converged upon Fenris once more, raising weapons to attack him all at once.

Fenris tried to dodge and parry the first few attacks, but he didn't seem to be too adept with his own weapon; I wanted to glare back at the infuriating Danarius because I _knew_ that he would be responsible for the uncommonly bulbous blade choice for an elf. There was no way that Fenris could be swift enough with such a hulking claymore; with one thrust of another's sword he went down, a stab wound at his hip.

Even though he went down, he didn't give up – Fenris continued to block with the sword, keeping the hulking piece of metal between him and his attackers as he attempted - in vain - to get away and regain his fighting stance.

I winced at every attack that landed; bile rose in my throat as the crowd roared and laughed at the unfair display.

"Danarius," I said thinly, my voice stressed and high. "Do you plan to let them kill your _pet_ so unfairly?" My hands shook as I spat out the derogatory word; it took all of my willpower to keep myself from leaping down there to defend my comrade, my _Fenris._

"Ah, but as you say," he said benignly, sipping calmly on his goblet of water. "He is a _pet_ – quite replaceable."

My teeth clenched, and I averted my gaze; I wished that I could obliterate my hearing, as the bloodthirsty cries from the crowd penetrated my brain to the point of nausea.

"Please," I said, my voice shaking. "Lord Danarius, _please_." I clung to the banister, trying to force the incessant yelling, the cries of pain and the harsh sounds of impact from below.

"Yes, my dear?" my Lord asked amicably, rising lazily from his chair. "Is it a favor you ask of me?"

I bowed over the edge of the box, knowing my lesson. _I am not the only one he is willing to punish – Danarius could hurt Fenris, or even Pana._ My heart leapt in my throat. _He didn't want me to watch a game – he wanted me to understand the power he holds over me through my loved ones._

"Yes," I rasped, opening my eyes. Fenris had finally fallen, his weapon knocked too far away to be of any assistance to him. "Please, _stop this_."

Danarius sighed, assuming a contemplative countenance. "I suppose I should lend a hand to my outmatched warrior below," he said regretfully, placing a hand on my arm in a faux comforting manner. I had to steel myself to keep from shying away; my eyes were glued to the scene below. Danarius raised his hand and a bell rang, signaling the end of the fight. "Perhaps my favor will persuade you to reconsider your earlier decision."

_What a fancy way to say "you owe me"._

I expected a healer to rush to the pit to heal the wounded, but no such thing occurred; the warriors slowly ambled out of the pit, leaving behind the beaten, bloody, lifeless Fenris – one of the other fighters glanced over his shoulder at the fallen warrior, as if contemplating dealing a final blow, but continued in his path out of the pit.

A panicked sound erupted from my throat when no one went out for him – until a few seconds later, a couple of men entered and slowly approached the fallen warrior. I watched anxiously as they grabbed him by the arms and drug him off of the sand.

I flew to the stairs in the beat of a bird's wing, Danarius be damned.

I whirled around a corner and heard the roar of the crowd surge again – the remaining fighters must have resumed their place.

My pace became frantic as I searched and couldn't find him. _Fenris. Fenris. Fenris. Fenris. Where are you?_

I ran down a narrow passage and my shoe splattered against the floor – I looked down and spotted a trail of blood and took off again, following the spotted trail until I found him, abandoned in the warrior's pit on the edge of the arena.

"Oh, Maker," I whispered, stepping closer and wishing desperately that I possessed the skill needed to heal him. Every inch was bruised and battered, and blood ran out of him at an alarming rate – through stab wounds, slices, and the gushing cut on his head. When I cast my gaze around me, I found a few guards – and I could see the remaining warriors as they resumed fighting out in the arena – but I found no healer. I rushed forward and clamped my hands over the biggest wound that I could find whilst trying to rouse him to consciousness.

"Fenris?" I tried, speaking directly into his slender ear. "Can you hear me?" I received no response – so instead, I called out for help, trying to yell above the crowd.

"Help!" I yelled, panic rising as more blood coursed out of the elf. _Not like this, Fenris._ "_Please!_ Someone help!"

A few of the guards turned my way; one of them chuckled at my display. I glowered harrowingly at him and his laugh cut short.

"He's alive?" a man with a beard asked, appearing from the door behind me, an elegantly carved staff in hand. "Good morning," he greeted me, coming to sit beside the unconscious Fenris and I. "I'm the healer here."

"Thank the Maker," I cried, "can you please help him?"

The man tutted and extended his hand over Fenris. "The outmatched warrior," he said to himself, acknowledging Fenris. "I will do what I can," he allowed, propping his staff against the wall and using his bare hands to focus the magic that slowly began pouring from his fingers.

"Anything will help," I said desperately, running my fingers through Fenris' hair. He lay so limply, so _still_.

"Such an unfair fight," the mage said as a calm blue light emanated from his palm. "Danarius must be displeased with this one, to let it happen."

"No. No, it was my fault." I curled myself around him, pressing my lips to his temple. "It was all my fault."

"There you are, Taris," came a familiar voice from the doorway. "My, you do move quickly when you wish to." I didn't raise my head to see Danarius; the worry clogged every thought I had. "That is enough healing for now, I'm afraid," he relieved the mage and signaled to a few men to enter the room.

"What?" I cried – why couldn't he just let Fenris be healed?

"It's time to head home, I believe," Danarius said to me, then turned to the helpful mage with the beard. "My apprentice seems to be no longer able to conduct herself with much formality," he said conspiratorially to the other mage, who chuckled in understanding.

Rage steamed inside of me, but I reeled it back and focused only on what I could do for Fenris – I felt so helpless, unable to heal or even rouse him. The men who entered the room grabbed the edges of the plank he lay upon and lifted him, carrying him away from me – but I was by their sides in an instant, stroking whatever inch of Fenris I could find, trying to hold myself back and failing.

I vaguely noticed that a cart was hooked up behind the carriage that we arrived in – but I also hardly noticed that we had traveled back outside. Fenris' wounds went largely untreated; the men set him down on the cart and I climbed in straight behind him, pulling him into my lap and pleading directly into his ear.

I heard someone speaking beside me – the driver? – asking if I would be more comfortable in the carriage, but I didn't acknowledge him. Eventually, the cart began to move – I did what little I could to keep Fenris from being jostled by the movement of the carriage on the cobblestones.

"Fenris," I spoke, my voice shaky. "I'm here – I'm so sorry, Fenris." I shuddered when I inhaled, rubbing down his arm with my hand.

The hot sun beat down upon us both; I expended a few bursts of magic to keep the heat and dust off of us, trying to keep Fenris comfortable and his wounds as clean as I could.

"Fenris, open your eyes – can you hear me?" I asked, my lips bumping the curves of his ear when the cart wobbled. "I'm so sorry, Fenris."

Somewhere in my mind I knew that Danarius wouldn't let Fenris die.

_He can't die – he's Danarius' favorite. Perhaps not yet, but Danarius must show favoritism in him because he chooses Fenris for the experiment – and he can't die yet because he's alive in the future._

But another part, a distinctly different part of me, whispered that I could be actively changing the future while I was in the past. _If I kill him now, there would be no Fenris of the future – I would have never met him._

Would I remain here, in that case?

I ran a hand down his hot, bloody face, wanting nothing more than to see his bottomless green eyes open.

I didn't even care if they would be full of hate – I just wanted him _alive_. I hated seeing him like this – broken and wrecked, gushing blood over my robes. His breathing was shallow and forced; I heard it hissing and rasping unhealthily through his lungs.

_Pana_ _can fix this._

I closed my eyes, holding him close; I tried to staunch the blood flow of some of his wounds, but the mage in the coliseum managed to hold them closed temporarily, so I directed my attention elsewhere.

_We aren't too far away; these wounds can still be healed._

"Fenris…" I swallowed the lump in my throat, thinking of something – anything – that might soothe or wake the battered warrior. An old melody came to mind, and I leaned down to press my lips to his sweaty forehead.

"You are my sunshine," I shakily whispered, "my only sunshine –" I choked, inhaling sharply to rid my throat of the tight feeling that constricted my ability to speak. "You make me happy…"

I bit my lip, unable to continue. "Please wake up," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

_My fault._

Forever passed before we entered the gates of Danarius' estate; I continued stroking and whispering and singing to the beaten Fenris until the healers were ushered downstairs to retrieve him – and even then, I followed them directly up the stairs and to the healer's room, feeling empty and petty.

_If he dies…everything I'd hoped for means nothing._

_My entire reason for being here is reduced tonothing._

_Oh, Maker – would I forget him? Would Fenris cease to exist as I knew him?_

I hung back as they carried him into the healer's room, unable to follow them the few steps more.

The door slammed shut in my face, and I stumbled until my back hit the wall behind me. I sunk to the floor, my back pressed to the wall outside the infirmary; I wondered if Danarius had been subtly using Pana and Fenris against me since I had arrived at his estate; it was ludicrous to believe that Fenris was meant to be used against me since the beginning, because Danarius had no knowledge of me prior to that day – the day I begged for Danarius not to take Fenris away from me.

_If I could just go back – if I could speak to Fenris again, tell him what my life would be if he had made me leave without him – how could he have ever thought that was a good idea?_

I held my head in my hands, trying not to feel too pitiful for myself. _Moping about this gets me nowhere_, I told myself sternly. _The only thing left is to act._

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><p><strong>Random fact: "Lingering Silence" is a Templar attack. I stole it for a chapter name because I couldn't think of anything. C; That's me, always original.<strong>

_**What do you think of the DA:I teaser trailer?**_


	22. 18 Corrupt

**I know that the Imperium is based off of ancient Roman culture, but in my story it's the twisted bitch stepchild child of the roman and Victorian eras. ****If there are any history buffs who are avid Dragon Age fanfiction readers, please forgive me.**

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><p><em>"Even if I don't make a move, I keep being swept away through the cracks of time." – Bad Apple! (Touhou)<em>

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><p><strong>18. Corrupt<strong>

I glanced up at the door of the infirmary; no noises could be heard, and I could only suppose that the healers were hard at work. _However,_ I sighed to myself, lowering my head into the soft robes covering my knees. _I'm not going in there._

I would only impede progress. I rubbed my head, trying not to think of the lifeless, bleeding Fenris I had escorted into the manor.

_He'll be fine._ A few cuts and bruises wouldn't kill a stubborn creature like Fenris – I _knew_ that.

But still, I couldn't help but worry.

_I must tread very lightly with Danarius._ I had no idea that he was capable of such cruelty-

_But I did._ What he did to that elf, what he would do to Fenris – I _knew_ he was capable of cruelty. He had lured me into a false sense of security – "_I'm going to let you keep your freedom, I'm going to free the little elf girl, I'm not going to kill you" – not to mention the fabulous room he gave me -_

_I should not have let it all distract me._ _Fenris paid the price for my distraction – I must be on my toes from now on._

Footsteps echoed down the empty hallway, and I raised my head. A servant approached quickly, informing me hurriedly that Danarius expected me in the study.

_Of course._ I rose, smoothing out the folds in my robes and glancing at the door of the infirmary.

_They will take care of him._

I sighed and walked reluctantly away, wanting nothing more than to be at Fenris' side – but I didn't know if I could handle it again, seeing him that way.

_There will be other times that I will be at his side._

_I'll make sure of it._

There was no one in the study when I arrived.

_Typical._ I looked longingly over my shoulder. _I wonder if anyone will alert me of how Fenris recovers?_ I grimaced. _Probably not._

I sighed again and walked to the desk to pick up the note that forever awaited me. _Dwelling helps no one._

_Taris,_

_Due to your gracious reprisal, I have prepared new material for your consumption._

I set down the note and regarded the book on the desk – a much thinner work that I was unaccustomed to. Curious, I lifted it and opened to a random page.

_…ability to kill mages outright. Lyrium is a dangerous material and is not to be handled lightly, particularly by one who is engraving it into another's flesh._

My nose curled in disgust and I nearly slammed the book shut before I remembered that this was a direct order – and something direct couldn't be ignored without obvious consequences.

So instead, I sighed and took my place in the leather chair behind the desk, settling in to quickly study the entirety of the book.

Two hours later, the last page flipped. I quietly placed the book on the desk and rested my elbows on either side of it, dipping my head to rest in my hands. My thumbs and forefingers ringed my hairline as I stared down at the innocuous book, deep in thought.

The book delved into the theory of a warrior of lyrium – a non-mage being whose skin bore etchings of lyrium, one that could use the magical properties of the lyrium to fight and defend, transcending the conceptual framework of the common fighter. It covered how the lyrium should be metered out over the skin, how deep the markings should be cut, and how a mage must be present overtime to rejuvenate the lyrium lost with age and use.

I stared into nothing, wondering what that meant for future Fenris. As far as I was aware, no one had "rejuvenated" his lyrium since he had run away from Danarius – three years? Four?

I had assumed – whenever it crossed my mind – that the lyrium in Fenris' skin would remain engraved forever – that it would never be completely used.

My own naïveté disgusted me.

Everything seemed to be so simple when spread out on paper – almost as if one mistake wouldn't immediately kill the subject.

I stuffed my notes into the book and rose from the desk, disgusted and irritated by the reading material. I only allowed thoughts of Fenris to enter my mind again when my hand met the door.

_The first time I see him in at least two months, and he's almost killed. What does that say about our relationship?_

_Hell, what does that say about_ me_?_

I stretched, raising my arms high above my head as I walked down the hallway, planning to get out of my nicer robes before Danarius required a more strenuous type of activity from me.

Once I had changed, I immediately set off for the infirmary again to check up on Fenris.

_He should be well on his way to being completely healed._ I wondered if he had awoken yet – probably not.

_And if he _is_ awake, I'll knock him unconscious for a few more hours so he can get some proper rest._

"Taris," called a feminine voice from behind me. I groaned inwardly, a hand flying up to rub my temple.

_Not the courtyard. Not the courtyard, notthecourtyard-_

"The master ordered me to inform you that a late training session has been arranged for you in the courtyard."

_Maker damn it!_

"Thank you," I gritted out through my teeth. I glanced down the hallway – I couldn't see the infirmary yet.

I sighed and turned around, heading back for the stairs to resume my training.

**-C-**

_Danarius is purposely trying to keep me from Fenris._

It was the only solution I could come up with, hours later as I headed straight for the infirmary, sweaty and sore from physical training – but the world wouldn't be right if I were able to make it to Fenris that easily.

"I would enjoy a word with you, apprentice."

Danarius' voice was cold and direct; the door to his private office hung open. A sigh inched its way to my lips, but I held it back to keep from angering my master.

I had let him get the better of me – I had underestimated not only him, but the actions he would be willing to take to keep his subjects within his grasp.

I stepped by him and into his office; the air was surprisingly frigid and stagnant. I inhaled deeply, glancing around the room, not noting any particular changes - there were the same hallmarks of Danarius' room - books, the scent of ink and old pages, a dusting taste of tangy magic in the air.

I turned abruptly when he slammed the door shut, expecting the ferocity of a scorned mage to bear down upon me.

Danarius had a small smile on his face; I slowly, cautiously took a step away from him.

He took a deep breath, patiently allowing me to stare directly into his eyes – _because he said I'm not a slave_. "Allow me to speak frankly for a moment," he began, the calm smile curtly dropping from his features. "You have been a truly endearing sport these past few weeks, Taris." His upper lip twitched as he stared humorlessly into my eyes. "But I grow tired of the game we play."

Danarius suddenly strode forward, and I unconsciously backed away from his approaching footsteps, my eyes widening and pulse quickening. I didn't realize that I had actually moved backwards until the roundest part of my bottom hit the front of his desk, halting me.

I had to actively keep myself from retaliating against him, from throwing a punch or kicking out his legs to keep him from coming any closer. My eyes narrowed and I held back a flinch, but I didn't break his eye contact.

"It is apparent that there are some things you don't yet understand," Danarius said, treading even closer until his legs could nearly touch mine. "Allow me to enlighten you.

"Fausta, in all her unkempt frivolities, would have killed you the moment you – so fantastically – ruptured her wall." His breath smelled sweet and burned hotly against my face, and he licked his lips, leaning fractionally closer. "But my final decision is not one to be spoken against; she would not argue with any supplication, should the order come from my mouth," he chuckled slightly, a crooked grin flashing on his face. "As it did.

"I didn't give that backward matron leave to kill you for more than one reason," the magister said, seemingly well aware that he had backed me into a corner. He leaned over, placing his hands on either side of me upon the desk, keeping me where he wanted me. "And that reason wasn't because I'm a particularly benevolent individual; likewise, it was not out of respect for the insignificant fighter who traded his life for your freedom." Emotionless gray peered into me, the neutral color burning like liquid fire down my spine.

"I saw an opportunity," he spoke, his teeth bearing slightly. I leaned away, not wanting to feel his humid breath hit my skin but having nowhere left to turn, his neatly trimmed beard falling right before my nose. "A skilled, passionate mage fell into my lap like a frisky kitten - was I not expected to snatch her up?" he asked rhetorically. I grabbed onto the desk to keep myself from falling over. "You were exactly what I needed – talented, young, and unable to say no – an invaluable asset, should I be able to control you effectively.

"But I haven't so far, have I?" he asked – still rhetorical, or at least, I hoped so. "I have kept you occupied with menial, pointless matters – as you already know how to fight, and you have already mastered all the magics you are likely to, these assignments of mine have been mere pet projects to keep you busy – biding my time until you gave up the notion that anyone is truly _free_ in this world – until you realized that you very well _couldn't_ say no," Danarius continued to rant, a mere few inches away from my face. I tried not to cower, tried to keep my head up – but I couldn't, I could only attempt to hold what little ground I had as he continued to seethe his way into my personal space.

He inhaled deeply, seemingly trying to calm himself – but the attempt failed. "As obtuse as a fox so rarely is, you didn't catch on to my intention. You realized that I intended to brand your beloved _Fenris_," his mouth curled sickeningly around his name, "and you so obviously ignored your own survival for pathetic notions of morality – or Black Divine forbid, _love_. Since you have chosen to reject my hints so far, I would like to throw my hand in order to tell you plainly."

His hand rose slightly before dipping into my robes. I inhaled sharply at the intrusion, shivering against the desk, stopping myself from immediately casting him aside in a fit of panic as he rifled through the fabric, digging against my skin with his knuckles.

Danarius pulled out his hand suddenly, twirling the small, aged flower in his hand, handling it as delicately as I ever had. "It seems that you have grown complacent, Taris. Did my reminder this morning alert you?"

I hadn't broken eye contact since he entered the room behind me; the intensity of the moment sent a bead of sweat down the back of my neck and a quiver down the notches of my spine.

The flower slipped into his palm and I simmered as he crushed it, smearing it into an oily nothing and letting whatever dust remained sprinkle to the floor.

"I own you," he said slowly, speaking softer than he had previously. "In every sense of the word that truly matters – you belong to _me_." The smile that he had lost made a remarkable return – but the cold grin could hardly reach his eyes. "You will do what I request and _when_ I request it; if I truly cannot force you to forget your little beaux, I will not hesitate to use him against you – torture, death; it matters not to me if I lose another _replaceable_ item.

"Which brings forth the truth of you: _you _are a replaceable item." The smile shrunk to a disgusting smirk, and he chuckled a quiet, lilting laugh full of hot breath onto my face. "My second thought after seeing you wreck through Fausta's wall was of how spirited and headstrong you are." I jumped when his hand moved to capture my wrist, squeezing hard, bruising the flesh, stretching it high, above my head, contorting me how he desired. "And of how interesting it would be to see you truly shackled – truly twisted and _broken_, until not a shard of your former identity existed. You would be useless as a tool, yes, but highly – amusing. For a time."

He leaned closer, inhaling deeply, raising the fine hairs on my neck before pulling away and dropping my hand.

"Keep in mind, that should my reminders prove useless, I will not fail to make you _amuse_ me," he said, stepping away from me, but still making a point with the raging bluntness of his snake eyes.

_I would sooner kill myself._ I quelled the furious fire blazing inside of me before it had a chance to fully form.

"With all your talent and morals, you remain powerless and fully manipulable by me." His eyes squinted with his slimy smile – I remained unable to move. "I suggest you remember just who you serve the next time I request something of you." A clean, gray eyebrow rose, awaiting my response.

I nodded mutely, feeling cold. _Threats, Hawke. Just petty threats._

But why do his words leave me feeling so...small?

"Wonderful," he lilted, smile growing as he lifted a hand to the door handle. "And Taris?"

"Ser?"

"Don't bother making a trip to the clinic; the warrior Fenris has already been removed."

The door opened and slammed, leaving me trembling against the hardwood desk.

**-C-**

I didn't bother to check the infirmary after I left Danarius' office – I knew that Fenris wouldn't be there.

_Is Danarius so cruel as to kick a wounded man out of the hospital?_

Yes. Yes, he is.

_Damn it!_ Worry wracked me as I lay, hours after the confrontation with Danarius, wide awake in my bedchambers.

_I should go look for Fenris- just to check if he's alright._

_No, I shouldn't. If I'm caught…_

_I won't be caught._

_But tonight isn't the time to chance it._

I ran a hand over my face, trying to relax and failing.

_What if he still needs healing? He was so badly injured -_

_He'll be fine. Danarius won't let him die this easily – not when he's already_ more than_ proved his point._

It felt relaxing to speak to myself – thinking in such a manner helped me construct my thoughts and think things through rationally.

_How odd – while I'm surrounded by dozens of people – if not more – in this mansion, I feel as alone as I did when Danarius had me locked inside that damn closet._

I suppose I never left the proverbial closet, did I? Separated from the rest, inside but not "within". Such an odd place to find myself.

I rolled onto my side, staring into the varying shades of muddled gray of the darkened room. I decided to blank my mind of presently unsolvable problems in order to focus on resting.

That plan lasted only a few short minutes before my brain was running at full tilt once again.

_That book on lyrium markings that I read today had nothing on memory loss,_ I pondered. The fact stood out to me now, as I mentally scrolled through the contents of the thin book in my mind. _Fenris – the one of the future – said that he could never remember anything past the initial pain of the markings._

Is it possible that it wasn't the markings, but something else that caused the memory loss?

The moment the concept dawned on me was the moment I also realized that I wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

_Alois._

I felt so stupid – the answer had been before my face the entire time. _Alois wasn't damaged by the fight at the party – he was mentally damaged by _Danarius.

_Which means that he can wipe someone's memories at a moment's notice – at least, in theory he would have the ability. But it seems as if he hasn't perfected it yet._

Or perhaps he has, but he hasn't found enough reason to resort to it yet.

All of my memories, gone – all of _Fenris's_ memories – Pana's -

_But Danarius doesn't operate like that. He likes to fuck with people's heads – he can't fuck with us if we don't remember anything._ That's what I hoped. _But he still has to be practicing this on someone – Alois is proof of that._

I didn't get a wink of rest the entire night – the next morning, I went straight to the medical room only to find it empty of patients.

_So Fenris _was _thrown out._

_Heartless bastard._

I asked around the hospital room, questioning the healers there – _has anyone else displayed behaviors like Alois? Did Fenris leave healed_? – but the only answer I received was "_the warrior will live._"

These people were going to kill me.

Throughout the next few days, I found myself bereft – Danarius had given me no new tasks since the encounter in his office. It wasn't such a terrible thing, really – but aimlessly wandering around without any real purpose grew tiresome after a while.

So I did what any normal, naturally curious person would do: I snooped. In the worst place imaginable.

Danarius' office looked the same as the other day – felt just as cold and oppressive, even without the master of the house present. I was careful in my endeavor, mindful to disturb nothing drastically – however much I would've liked to "accidentally" spill ink all over his personal notes.

I noticed the dust from my treasured flower had been completely removed. With a frown, I banished all thoughts of the dead token and continued on.

I moved quickly, giving myself a scant amount of minutes to spend in the room – if I didn't find anything in the allotted time, I would leave empty handed, no questions.

There were many books in his desk, and I rifled through them, checking loose papers and anything suspicious lying about.

_Just what _have _you been up to, Danarius?_

I paused my rifling as footsteps were heard in the hall; I froze, my hand an inch from the last book, positioned on the far side of the desk.

My eyes trained on the door, a wave of trepidation sliding down my spine with a trickle of sweat.

The steps paused before continuing on down the hall. It was a full half a minute before I let out the breath I had been holding and finished reaching for the book.

_Better make this quick_.

What stood out immediately when I lifted the book was that it wasn't written in a language similar to the others – it was different, but familiar. I could definitely read it, but I didn't understand how or why – it was almost as if I had never seen the language before, but was intimately familiar with it.

I did _not_ want to think of the implications of _that_.

_I still can't figure out how I can seemingly speak Arcanum without being aware of it. Unless this is actually the Fade, but without the sepia bits._

I shook myself. _Focus._

I opened the book, skimming through endless pages that droned on – I supposed the reason why this book was in a different language was so not just anyone could wander in and read it.

_It seems Danarius doesn't know me as well as he pretends to._

About ten or twelve pages in, I found what I was looking for – ingredients for a potion that would have the ability to strip the memories from a person's brain – leaving behind procedural memory and speech only, and without damaging the temporal lobe of the subject.

_Foolish, foolish work_; if anything went wrong, the drawbacks were obvious – one could merely look at Alois and see for themselves the mistakes that had been made. Nothing could ever be retained in his mind; no short-term memory ever crossed to any long-term memory space; his sight, spatial awareness and memory all damaged, and Danarius was going to attempt the process _again_?

_Danarius is barking mad for even attempting these wretched experiments._

Only a small portion of the spell was a potion; it also required subtle, long-lasting magic that had the possibility of wearing with age if not occasionally attended to.

_Age, as in "longer than a few years". The future Fenris has given no indication that he remembered anything before waking up with markings – quite the opposite, actually._

_In any case, I found my proof._

_Danarius has messed with Alois head – and he'll try to mess with Fenris' head._

_But I won't let him._

I didn't know how, but I was going to stop Danarius before he could irrevocably damage the Fenris I had come to know.

_I miss him so damn much._ I set the book down and backed away from the desk, double checking everything to make sure it looked as it had when I walked in.

I tiptoed out, feeling foolish, but unwilling to let down my guard as I shut the door quietly behind me and softly tread back to my quarters.

I had only been in my room for a minute and a half before knuckles rapped on my door. I jumped, my heart pounding.

_Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit_

I cleared my throat and my head. _Nobody saw me go in there. There is absolutely no way he would be able to tell that I was there._

_Don't be nervous. Just answer the damn door._

I walked to the door and opened it slowly, exposing the face of the butler.

"The Master requires your presence this evening, ma'am," the man said formally, bowing slightly. "He wishes for you to be present in the foyer before dusk, wearing your best party gown."

That struck me sideways. "A…party gown?" I cocked my head. "Will there be a party in the foyer?"

The butler's lip curled with impatience. "No, ma'am; it will be in the ballroom. A maid will be sent up shortly to assist you."

He swiftly backed away and out of my doorway, continuing on to other business.

This was the first I had heard of any party. Confused, I shut the door and turned, staring out the window to gauge how much time was left before dusk.

A few hours, if I was lucky. I sighed and headed for the wardrobe, a stately, bulbous piece of furniture on the north wall, and proceeded to pick and prod until I found a suitable gown to wear to a party.

In retrospect, it was easy to find; made from puffy and restricting materials, the gown took up a quarter of the room in the wardrobe and was clearly fashioned for classy balls and parties.

The majority of the fabric was a soft, metallic green color that was trimmed with poofy bits that were the color of aged gold; the sleeves were high, the scoop in the front low, and unless it was tailored correctly, I would be tripping over the hem all night.

It was gorgeous, and delicate, and I would never see myself in it in a hundred years.

_For the Maker's sake, I was raised on farms and dirt roads and spent most of my adulthood slaying monsters and thieves of varying size and skill._

Plus, I doubted that I would even fit in the thing. The waist seemed to be too small to accommodate me properly – I would just wear one of my regular robes and perhaps no one would make a fuss -

A knock rambled on my door, followed by a tentative creak of someone opening it an inch. "Ma'am? I'm here to help you –"

The maid witnessed my actions of pulling out a nice, sensible blue robe from the closet and tsked, opening the door wider.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that will not be an appropriate item to wear. Might I suggest the green gown-?"

"Forgive me, but I don't believe that I will be able to fit in that one," I cut her off, brandishing my proffered robe. "This one will do nicely in its place."

"No, ma'am," the maid said regretfully, not meeting my eye the entire time she had been in the room. "Danarius will not be pleased." She held up a piece of cloth in her hands – but it wasn't just a piece, it had strings and ridges and – good Maker, what was that? "The gown is meant to be thin; we will find a way to fit you in it."

She came closer, and I returned my blue robe back to the wardrobe with a sigh. "If it is what Danarius _wishes_, then I can't very well tell him to shove it, can I?" I mused, pulling out the green dress. "If you think you can get me to fit in this thing, then I'm willing to give it a go."

The maid nodded, a glint of determination in her eye as she strode closer and told me to strip.

-**C**-

An hour of pain and bone crushing later, I was in a corset for the first time and unable to breathe.

_I was wrong._

_Danarius_ is _trying to kill me – or drive me mad._

It was another thing altogether to squeeze into the dress, but by the time we had managed to whip my breasts into place we only had a short while before my presence was deemed necessary downstairs.

Panting and brushing loose strands of hair from my face, I glanced askance at the mirror on the wall and couldn't help but think _damn_.

_I look good._

Hair plastered to my face and all – the green dress and corset gave me curves that I didn't know I had.

_I may be interested in wearing dresses more often._

_Maybe._

Not really.

The maid expressed her intent to complete the look by assisting me with my hair – and I gladly accepted the assistance, my face and neck burning a little pink as I realized that I hardly resembled the woman I was in Kirkwall.

_The woman I will be._

_Maker, if Isabela saw me now she'd never let me hear the end of it._

_"Remember that time when Hawke was a girl?"_

_Andreste's funbags, even in my head she's a tarty bitch._

I suddenly missed Isabela so fiercely, the desire to see her almost knocked me over. All the easygoing jokes, the lighthearted flirts – everything.

_I took her friendship for granted. I could use her so much right now – if not for anything other than comic relief in this tense situation._

And Varric – I needed him to bolster my strength higher. I needed the exaggerated stories that he was so excellent at crafting; I needed the encouragement, the witty comments, the kinship.

My friends. My family.

_I hope to see them again, someday._

The maid had my hair up and presentable in record time – with only a few rebellious hairs poking out here and there, I almost resembled a proper lady.

"Thank you for your help," I said, smiling at her. She nodded graciously before excusing herself from the room.

With one last glance at the mirror, I slipped on a pair of appropriate shoes and left, descending the stairs in the waning sunlight.

A lump in my throat formed when I realized that Danarius had been waiting for me; I could see him speaking quietly with a servant in the foyer and I hurried my steps, hoping that he didn't wait too long and he wasn't feeling particularly full of ire at the moment.

To my relief, he seemed quite level-headed and content when I approached; I was sure my curiosity of the occasion showed on my face, because he answered my silent question immediately.

"The party is being held in honor of my remaining warriors, and my own success," Danarius said without an ounce of humility – and then he described some political bullshit that he planned and executed, the words going right through my ears. I could only nod and smile, pretending I could keep up with the politics of the Imperium but ultimately finding myself damn well lost. "As my apprentice, you are an extension of myself; if you are asked to dance, I expect you to dance. You will be friendly, but you will not speak of me nor my household in an unkind fashion. I expect you to speak courteously and to carru yourself with an air of intelligence at all times."

"Yes, ser," I said, already feeling a bit overwhelmed. _A party. With dancing._

_Wait, did he say warriors?_

"Head upstairs and wait while the guests arrive; I will expect you in the ballroom by the time the music begins."

I nodded and backed away, irritated that I couldn't have been told this sooner – I would have had longer to get ready and mentally prepare myself.

And I wouldn't have had to run up and down the stairs all damn afternoon.

_If he's going to pretend that he didn't threaten me against his desk the other day, then I sure as hell won't bring it up,_ I thought as I ascended the stairs slowly.

A sudden ball for the sake of politics; schmoozing with senators and powerful families and a bunch of other rich people – my mother would be proud.

As it was, I couldn't help but feel like the night was about to drag on in a highly uncomfortable manner. Especially so, as I had yet to learn where the ballroom was, exactly

* * *

><p><strong>Between you and me, the whole "no Fenris" thing is starting to bore the crap out of me. So I apologize for my less-than-pristine post, since I'm not going to examine this chapter as minutely, since it will keep me from working on the next chapter.<strong>

_What other fandoms are you proudly - or ashamedly - a part of?_


	23. 19 Reunion

**Hello lovelies! Bet you didn't think I'd be back so soon, did you? How is everyone? How're the folks? Nice weather we're having, isn't it? Did you see that thing? You know, that thing on the news? Oh dear, you need to see that thing on the news!**

**Now that the small talk is over with, let's go on to the next chapter!**

* * *

><p><em>"I don't tell anyone about the way you hold my hand<em>  
><em>I don't anyone about the things that we have planned<em>  
><em>I won't tell anybody, won't tell anybody<em>  
><em>they wanna push me down,<em>  
><em>they wanna see you fall down.<em>

_"I won't tell anybody that you turn the world around_  
><em>I won't tell anyone that your voice is my favorite sound<em>  
><em>I won't tell anybody, won't tell anybody<em>  
><em>they wanna see us fall,<em>  
><em>they wanna see us fall down."<em>

– "_Parachute_", Ingrid Michaelson

* * *

><p><strong>19. Reunion<strong>

I tried my best to freshen up when I returned to my room; I lightly patted my skin with a damp rag, trying to soak up the light sheen of sweat that began to collect on my skin.

_I hope I don't smell,_ I thought to myself, searching for a bottle on the vanity. _That would be the icing on the proverbial shit cake, wouldn't it?_

_Hi, yes, I'm Marian, nice to meet you. What's that? I smell like a farmboy soaked in rancid milk? Why, I never!_

_Cue Danarius sacrificing me to demons._

I sighed and snatched up a dark orange bottle that sat innocuously on the vanity. Cracking the top off, I sniffed delicately, deciding that it didn't smell too disgusting – not any worse than a farmboy soaked in rancid milk, anyway. I pulled out the topper and lightly dabbed the perfume on the delicate veins of my wrist and a slight swipe on the underside of my jaw, coughing at the strong smell.

_I take it back. Give me the chunky, sweaty smell over this nostril-burning beast of a scent._

Laughter wafted up from the hall downstairs and I rose, deciding I had waited long enough for Danarius to be satisfied with my fashionable lateness; the sun was midway over the horizon, and I counted the moments it took for it to creep lower before disappearing from sight until dawn.

_Don't be nervous,_ I told myself, looking firmly at my own reflection in the window. _Just be polite, and when you can't, smile and nod and pretend to be polite._

I closed my eyes and exhaled, restraining a tremble, trying to muster some semblance of strength that I may have possessed a lifetime ago – but I found no reserves, only reluctance and pain.

I inhaled deeply and turned for the door, willing myself to leave all of my trepidation in the room behind me.

**-R-**

Music began to swell; it grew in pitch the closer I drew to the ballroom, which was pointed out to me by a helpful servant. A few ushers stood by the doors, leading a few straggling people through. I followed the spotty traffic until I entered the well-lit and tastefully decorated room that housed the majority of the party.

_Outstanding_ was the only word that came to mind when my eyes caught all the flashing, bright colors swirling about the room. Dumbfounded for a solid minute, I gaped at the door, wanting to witness everything at once but being unable to; my breath caught in my throat at the beauty of it all.

_Politics, Marian – it's all political and greedy nonsense. There isn't anything "beautiful" about it._

Except for all the pretty, mesmerizing colors.

I cleared my throat and moved from the doorway, feeling my face pink as I realized how foolish I must look, staring at every tasteful, masculine robe and feminine frilly dress.

I doubted I could fit any kind of food into my stomach while wearing the restraining corset, but I stepped lightly over to the table of food, regardless; a server graciously handed me a glass of wine and I smiled and nodded in thanks before wandering toward the eastern wall, away from where the majority people milled about, chatting or dancing.

There was an assortment of musicians playing on the far wall; the jovial sounds bounced around the room like leaves on a current of air, heightening the experience for the dancers and socialites.

So lost was I in the experience, I didn't realize I was being approached until a man startled me out of my contemplation.

"Excuse me, but might you be Taris?" he asked, blue eyes bright in the well-lit room.

After the standard prick of irritation at being forced to answer to a pet name, I nodded, bowing a little, not trusting myself to respond with words. The man laughed and held out his arm.

"It certainly is nice to make your acquaintance again, Taris," he said, reaching a hand up to brush a lock of salt-and-pepper hair back into place. I recognized him faintly as a man who had been present at one of Danarius' dinners a while ago. "Please, allow me to introduce you to a few friends of mine. You look so bereft, standing all alone."

I nodded again, offering a small smile as he led me over to a group of aristocrats, laughing and drinking their wine. I was introduced, asked a few questions, and immediately forgotten about as the topic eventually dropped.

I wondered if I were being escorted around in order to keep myself from trouble, if Danarius had _asked_ this man to help me not make a spectacle out of myself – but it was hard to concentrate on anything with all the noise swirling around me. I took a sip of my wine, faintly recognizing the taste.

After a few minutes of cavorting with each other, the music changed; my temporary companion turned to me and asked me for a dance.

I almost declined – but knew that if I did, Danarius would find out and he would probably not react kindly to my rudeness.

So, regretfully, I took him up on his offer, ensuring he heard my standard disclaimer about not knowing how to dance. He laughed me off, pulling me closer to the other dancers.

He danced sensibly, which I was thankful for – but I was more thankful when the dance finally ended. My wine had been set down at some point and he offered to fetch me another, which I _did_ decline, wanting to get away from my apparent baby sitter.

I thanked him for the dance and departed, nicking another glass of wine from a passing server and taking a long draft.

I headed back to my wall, but before I could get close enough to it to break from the crowd, a large hand clasped over my arm and pulled me backwards, close to a masculine body. I held my breath to keep myself from stomping on the man's foot, figuring that it wouldn't make a good impression.

"Enjoying yourself, Taris?" Danarius asked, voice low – but still audible – in my ear. "You haven't been very socially active lately. I assumed you would enjoy the chance to mingle."

_Right._ I had no illusions about what my presence was about; he wanted me to be visible, wanted people to see how brightly he could shine a copper piece. "I'm very grateful for the chance, ser," I said, hearing the hollow sound of the words on my ears.

"It must be something quite different for you," he mused, twirling me around to face him. "Being a known mage, not having to run or hide." Pale blue eyes caught mine as the music started up again; a glint in them taunted me as his hand trailed to my hip.

"It's a breath of fresh air," I said, trying hard to keep the grimace off my face as he gripped my waist. He kept me as far away as socially acceptable, but I still didn't savor the contact.

"Certainly, Taris," he replied, but his eyes still taunted; he knew how being referred to as _Taris_ vexed me. "But you never answered me: are you enjoying yourself?"

"As much as I possibly can," I said honestly, trying to keep my tone even and the malicious intent out of my voice. "The wine is delicious and the music is lovely."

Danarius' mouth quirked at the sides; anyone else would have seen it as a humbled smile, but I saw it as prey spies the toothy grin of a predator through the underbrush. "The most popular musicians in the Imperium, or so I've heard. As for the wine – Aggregio Pavali is my preferred substance of choice, and there will be only the best for my guests."

My step faltered, a memory flashing to the forefront of my mind – _a sip of wine, a burst against stone, how else would you redecorate the walls?_

I swallowed thickly, feeling my hand begin to sweat in his. The music slowed again and we bowed to each other, and I thanked him for the dance. "Excuse me," I said, backing away from him in order to find the nearest powder room. He paid my departure little mind, his attention grabbed by a peer who had tapped on his shoulder the moment our dance had ended – but I felt eyes, like daggers, on my back the entire walk out of the ballroom.

_Who needs a damn ballroom, anyway? Who can afford stupid, vapid parties like this?_

_I hope the Blight takes them._

I forewent the one closest to the ballroom; ladies milled about around it, chatting and laughing and drinking, and I didn't feel up to the feminine chatter.

_A rich bastard like Danarius has to have more than one._

So I opted for one further away – it was empty, and I shut the door behind me. I propped it shut with a stool from the far side of the room, preventing anyone from bursting in unannounced.

I backed away from the door slowly, feeling my heart leap to an angry pound in my chest.

I hurled a punch at the wall, growling to myself. "Stupid" punch "fucking" punch "ball!" My knuckles stung red, but I didn't care. I vented and raged in the rest room, getting it all out of my system.

_The wine._

_The fucking wine._

_"Danarius had me pour it for his guests."_

Did that mean-? No. Fenris wasn't his guard, not yet.

_But the mere chance-_

I groaned, wanting to grab my hair in frustration but not wanting to spoil the look the maid had helped me achieve. _Even if Fenris did show up, I would be unable to speak with him – not with all of those people around to see and hear._

_I fucking hate this _feeling_._ I had always been in control – _always_. It was easy to be cool and collected when you didn't have anyone reminding you every five minutes that he _technically owns you_.

_Is this how Fenris of the future feels _all the time? _How does he _stand _it?_

_But if he will be present at the party, this could be my only chance to get a message to him.  
><em>  
><em>Damned if I do, damned if I don't<em>.

"Maker _damn it!_" I howled, landing another punch against the wall and hearing a knuckle pop. I hissed and held my fist close to my chest, rubbing the stinging area with my thumb.

The mirror in the room was large, and I stared into it for a few moments, collecting myself. My eyes were wild, my hair out of place, and my chest heaving; a splotchy red color coated my cheeks and I sighed, dampening a small hand towel to blot my cheeks with.

_After this party, I'm going to find Fenris and we're going to leave. I don't care if he hates me, or doesn't want to see me – I can't stand another minute here, and Fenris won't survive as he is if he stays._

I thought of the horrifying pain he would endure, and all the years of servitude and brutality – the thought was more than enough to make my mind up.

_If he's here tonight, I have to take the chance._

After some of the craze had drained out of my eyes, I decided it was time to head back. With a clearing of my throat, I headed for the doorway, removing the stool and setting it aside.

I crept back into the ballroom to find that the music had halted, and most of the occupants of the room milled around the center, remarking about a particular group of figures in the midst of them.

Interested, I stepped forward, peering through the heads and shoulders until I saw them – three individuals, half naked and being pawed at by the crowd.

And one of them was Fenris – and once I saw him, he was the _only_ thing I could see.

From as far away as I was, I could tell he kept his face purposefully blank; he was shirtless and rigidly straight as several hands and gloves stroked and prodded, remarking on his features and strength at various volumes. His eyes were vacant, distant – he wasted no reaction on the useless, inane people around him.

Danarius was around the group, nodding and responding to the remarks of his guests, but I couldn't hear his words from where I stood.

_Animals_, my mind hissed acerbically. Green eyes suddenly lifted and caught my own; I froze, unable to compensate for the weight of his stare.

No discernible information lingered in his gaze; no recognition, no hate, no repulsion.

My heart splintered a little. The gloved hand of a woman rose to stroke his face; someone called my name, and I forced myself to break eye contact so as to not give myself away.

But the person summoning me was Danarius, and he had already seen.

I took a fortifying inhale and tread closer to the host; he held out an arm to me and ushered me closer, remarking to everyone that I had been diligent in my studies so far. They all congratulated me for being worthy of Danarius' tutelage; but I couldn't comprehend their words, as distracted as I was – their compliments were all directed towards Danarius himself, regardless. Sound had been drowned out by the dark haired elf before me, and I tried my best not to show how enraptured I had grown.

_This is my chance._

_Will he understand?_

_I told myself that it had to be now – where has all my courage fled?_

In the next moment, our eyes met again; his lips narrowed into a grim line. I tried to convey everything I felt – even though I didn't know what half of my feelings were – within the span of a few heartbeats.

Half a minute later, the attention waned from Fenris and people drew closer to the warrior in the skimpy dress beside him – as the majority of the crowd left him behind, I took my chance, swerving behind the crowd as they jostled and laughed, lifting my skirt so it wouldn't be stepped on.

Fenris' back was to me now, and I grabbed his wrist discreetly. He gave no movement, though I felt him tense.

"Fenris," I whispered, knowing he would be able to hear me. "Do you know where my room is?"

Another beat, and there was a slight shake of his head. I pursed my lips, wanting to lean closer, to wrap my arms around his tawny waist, but refrained.

"Second floor," I said so softly I could hardly hear it in my own ears. "Take a left up the stairs and a right at the second corridor. I'll leave the door cracked. Can you meet me when you're dismissed?"

A few seconds passed with no response from the man before me. My heart sank a little, and I pushed out a pitiful "_please_."

A curt nod of his head was the response I received. Relief puddled in my belly and I could have wept; instead, I backed away from him, suddenly feeling stretched thin as I resumed my show of "I don't care about this random elf", hoping that no one had seen the brief conversation, as enraptured they were with the lady warrior and her subtle beauty and strength.

I retrieved another glass of wine, and succeeded in downing it before the music started up again. After that, I was approached by three men for a dance in rapid succession. I thought that I was getting better at the whole "dancing" thing, but my attention never strayed far from the elf on the other side of the room. I was constantly aware of his every movement, and could feel the heat of his gaze each time it landed on me.

After the three dances, I considered that I had done enough socializing for the night. A group had amassed around me, and everyone was drinking and speaking to each other, exchanging pleasant remarks about the _gracious host_ and the _well dressed servers_ and _the entertainment_, which I could guess meant the warriors that were being shown off; I quietly excused myself, claiming to have drank and danced quite enough – nobody questioned me when I calmly strode out of the door, dress gathered in my hands.

_Maker, what will I say?_

_"Hey, Fenris. Long time, no see. How well did your injuries heal?"_

_Shit, this is going to go so bad._

I climbed the stairs slowly, taking special care to not trip over my dress.

_I doubt I'll ever be shoved into anything this beautiful again,_ I thought wistfully. _But I've never been a "dress" kind of girl, anyways._

I reached my room a while afterwards; my hands began to shake as soon as I dropped my dress, and I was careful to leave the door cracked behind me. I walked around the room and briskly lit lamps with subtle fire magic and the room soon began to glow.

I walked to the window and shut the thick red curtains, to be safe, pulling them close together – I glimpsed the grounds, bathed in moonlight, and paused, watching as the guards patrolled and the greenery as it smoothly waved in the wind. I stared out at the gigantic wall, trying to envision a way to get over it – I had no idea where to get a lengthy enough rope, or how to stall the guards long enough to get up and over – perhaps magic could be used, as the front gate would never be an option, with its constant guard -

The door suddenly shut behind me and I jumped, whirling around.

Fenris stood before the door, looking as unruffled as ever – and _terribly_ distracting, with his chest and shoulders bared for my eyes to devour.

"Fenris," I said, but his name stuck in my throat. I swallowed and shut the curtains completely behind me.

He said nothing, but waited patiently for me to make the first move.

Now that he was finally here, I couldn't think of anything to say – _hello, how are you, we need to talk -_

"I missed you," I blurted out, my voice wavering. Tears bit angrily at my eyes and I looked at the floor. "I – we need to talk, but I don't know-"

The relief I felt at being so near him was palpable; seeing him, being near him – _after so much anger, for so long -_

"What do you want?" he asked – not quite gruffly; his eyes were not cruel, when I raised my head – I was unsure of how he meant his question.

_I know you're still angry, Fenris, but I hope – I know that I -_

_We can work through this, can't we?_

I took a step closer, and when he didn't move, I stumbled forward in my haste to be closer to him.

"I want –" I looked up at him; I could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest, distracting me. _I don't know what I want._ My breath hitched without my consent. "I want to speak to you…if you'll listen." I wrapped my arms around my midsection, trying to hold in everything, all of the words threatening to spill – _one thing at a time_.

Fenris nodded once, green eyes cool, posture aloof – and it was all I could do to not leap at him, hug him tight.

_Maker, I missed you_. The empty hole in my heart was filled by his presence in a way I didn't anticipate.

"Why did you try to abandon me?" was the first thing that came to my mouth, and I instantly regretted saying it, shutting my eyes with a wince.

_Shit._

_I can't believe I just said that._

I felt pathetic and stupid and _he tried to abandon me._

Fenris didn't say anything; after a minute or two, I opened my eyes and peeked up at him, noting the change in his posture. He seemed to wilt, his head lowered and his own breathing ragged.

"I didn't. Why didn't you tell me you were a _mage_?"

His dark voice spat the word at me and I flinched, hating the way he could cast me down with just a sentence.

_Don't get defensive._

We aren't here to fight; he's just hurt and confused and I need to make this right – we've both got insecurities and problems and those aren't the real issues, but we need to work through them to move on.

I felt small as I turned away from him, not wanting to look at the expression on his face, not wanting to respond unreasonably to the anger in his voice. "Because I knew you would hate me," I whispered, staring down at my delicate green dress.

"You were wrong," he said simply.

I raised my eyes, blinking, feeling wetness gather on my eyelashes. "Was I?" I asked, feeling a sad smile form on my mouth. "You hate magic so much, Fenris – what could I have expected, if I had told you the truth?"

I shut my mouth, feeling dizzy. _This – trust – has always been our problem._

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to sign your soul over to Danarius?" I asked, my mouth dry. "That you weren't going to even try to be freed? That I would be starting a life _so utterly alone_ without you-"

Fenris burst into action, startling me – in a split second he had lunged forward and grabbed my arm, whipping me around so we would stand face-to-face. "Because there was _no other option_," he growled, towering over me. "You think that I didn't want to be free? That I didn't want to be with you?" He lowered his head, eyes blazing. "I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"Why?" I asked weakly, my eyes filling again with pathetic moisture. "Why didn't you _wait_? There are _always_ other chances-"

"The life of a slave is no life for you, Marian," he said quietly, calming himself. It felt wonderful to hear my given name again, from his lips, in his voice. "I – tried to protect you."

"_I want to be with you_," I said, voice wavering as I stared up at him. "You had to realize that I would never sit by as you sacrificed yourself for me." I could no longer restrain myself - my arms raised and I wrapped them around his torso, so close to me, drawing him closer, feeling the heat and life and _protection_ he could offer as he released his hold on my upper arms and wrapped his own around me, pulling me tightly against him.

_This._

"I realize it now," he said quietly, and I inhaled shakily, pulling in his scent, relishing the warmth of his chest against my cheek. A hand rose to hold my back and his head bent over mine. "I have – agonized over the possibility that you would be lost to me."

_This is what I had missed_. He was so close, so warm, so tangible.

I snorted wetly, shaking my head. "You're a fool, Fenris." I raised my head, resting my chin on his chest as I looked up at him. "I will always belong to you."

His mouth quirked at the edge before it descended onto mine; my lips molded against his, warm and pliable; his arms tightened around me even as I pulled away.

There was so much of this man that I had missed – his touch, his voice, his shy smile and unforgiving eyes – and I never wanted to let go of him again.

_You have to trust him if you want to keep him_.

I closed my eyes. _He's going to think I'm mad._

I have to take that chance.

"I – I have _so much_ to tell you," I said, balling my fists on his chest. "We can't keep doing this to each other, Fenris. The lies, the secrecy – it has to stop." I laid my head on his chest again. _Fenris, Fenris, Fenris._

I never realized you were so self-sacrificing – but that has to stop.

I hugged him closer, trying to extinguish the empty feeling left in me when I thought of him fighting, selling his life and services to Danarius to protect me.

"I know you would never abandon me. I'm sorry for blaming you."

He hummed, a pleasant rumbling in the pit of his chest. "And I –" he sighed, pausing. His hand rubbed up to my neck, his thumb brushing my skin in a soothing manner. "I could never hate you."

I chuckled weakly, my lungs full of flutters. "We're a mess."

Fenris gave no reply, going regrettably silent. I sought solace in the quiet moment together before pulling away from him, backing away until his arms slowly, reluctantly dropped from me.

I didn't meet his eye as I moved back to the window. "We need to trust each other, Fenris," I said, turning my back to him in order to collect my thoughts, to not be distracted by him for just a moment.

_This goes both ways_, I reminded myself. _If I want him to be honest with me, I must be honest with him._

"I trust you," he said immediately, and I smiled. There was no doubt in his voice whatsoever.

"And I, you," I said, still not turning around to face him. "But there's something I have to tell you."

_Here we go_.

I didn't hear him approach, but I didn't jump when his hand met mine; his coarse fingers rubbed against my own and I grasped onto him for stability. Without speaking, he pulled me to the bed and we sat down, the mattress creaking beneath our combined weight.

He waited patiently for me to speak; he had to know how important it was – he already knew that I never did secrets halfway.

_A mage _and_ from the future. I definitely know how to keep life interesting, don't I?_

_This has to happen – he has to know it all. Everything._

_Or we won't ever be able to cross this bridge and trust each other._

I took a great inhale, and began.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, Marian, what are you <em>thinking?<em> You crazy mage time-traveling weirdo. But this reunion is long overdue, in my humble opinion, and I'm looking forward to writing Act 2 - which is coming up really soon!**

**Wish me luck, guys? c: I know I might be giving out how much of a wee baby I am, but I start my first semester of college this week! How that bodes for writing, I'm unsure – but any break I take from now on probably won't be as terribly long as some of the breaks I've taken in the past (fingers crossed!). **


	24. 20 Glimmer of Hope

**Welcome newcomers, oldcomers, and that shifty wayfaring bunch that clicks on the story and then decides they don't like what I'm selling and leave. (I'm looking at you, prologue! Stop scaring people away!) There is a full complement of punch and pie for this party, feel free to grab a cup and plate while we wait for these two to figure out their problems.**

**Aaaaand here we go!**

* * *

><p><em>Fun Fact<em>_: Earlier on, Marian was supposed to find out that Kornyn was Svanna's only son, which would have explained why Svanna was such a bitch to her after Kornyn supposedly died. I didn't include this plot detail because I didn't think it mattered and/or I was too lazy to write it!_

* * *

><p><strong>20. Glimmer of Hope<strong>

I drew a deep breath; I had spoken so much without pausing that I almost felt nauseated by the flow of words.

By the time I finished speaking, Fenris was deadly silent. During my brief story, his eyes had narrowed, and his fist had clenched when I mentioned that I had met an elf named Fenris – the _future_ Fenris, the slave that had escaped from Danarius – in my narrative. He had fought off a foul look, trying to meet me halfway – understanding that the words were hard enough to say without him mutilating me for speaking them.

I didn't ever directly state that I had traveled to the past – that _this_ was the past – and I hoped that he would draw his own conclusions from my words.

I picked at my dress, pulling off a stray bit of hair. The silence pressed onward, drowning me in dread.

_He doesn't believe me._

_If he did, he would have said something by now._

I glanced up at him, trying to gauge what he was feeling – but he looked away from me, deep in thought, trying to draw his own lines.

"When…you called me 'Fenris' –"

I nodded, cutting him off. "It's because I already knew you," I pushed out quickly, raising a hand to his as it sat in his lap, grasping his fingers in mine. "Or rather, who you would become. I already loved you, Fenris." He turned to face me, then, and I returned his gaze with level eyes.

I watched it slowly click in his head through his impossibly deep, impossibly unreadable viridian eyes. He didn't say anything for a time, but trained his gaze on mine, mulling over the information.

"You're implying that you're from the future," Fenris said, unmoving. "I know little of magic, but I wasn't aware that it was possible to attempt such a feat."

I chuckled, feeling weak and shaking my head. "It didn't actually happen on purpose – believe me," I said. I had told him everything – from running from the Blight, to working for smugglers, to meeting everyone and going into the Deep Roads – and I ended at the antiquarian and the stone. "I have no idea how it happened. One moment I was shopping, the next minute I was in a cage – and then I met you and I realized why I was here."

"And why is that?" he questioned, finally flipping his hand over to hold mine.

_Victory! Maybe he doesn't think I'm completely batshit after all!_

_Or maybe he feels sorry for me and thinks I need to be comforted._

"Why I'm here?" I clarified, buying more time to think. "I think it was…_is_…to save you."

He raised a dark eyebrow and I offered a half-hearted smile. "I thought you said you met me – meet me –"

"I knew you in the future, yes," I hedged, sighing deeply; it felt amazing to share this burden, to not be the only one confused about…_everything_. "But you weren't as you are now. There's – you're – you'll be _different._ Changed."

"How?"

"It's not that easy to explain," I muttered, thinking about the lyrium and the bitterness. "But your memories will be stripped from you by Danarius –or a potion – or lyrium – I haven't quite figured it out yet. But you won't remember a thing about any of this – you won't have any information of your childhood, or me, or your sister – and you'll be in so much pain, and have so much _hate_ bottled up inside you." I heaved a heavy breath, trying to keep my breathing even. "I can't sit by and watch that happen to you."

_In both of the times that I've known him, I've tried to forget him – and in both times, I've failed._

His other hand grabbed my chin, forcing me to turn back to him. He lifted it and our lips met effortlessly; he caressed the skin of my cheek and my mouth opened, allowing him access, relishing in the contact and physical closeness of him.

His tongue stroked mine, and after a few breathless moments he finally pulled away. Starry-eyed and tongue-tied, I gazed up at him, suddenly regretting the past few months of silence with a tremendous passion.

"There is no need for an apology," Fenris said. I raised a hand to push his hair out of his face and leaned up to give him another kiss.

"You still don't believe me," I muttered morosely against his mouth.

"I believe _in_ you," he insisted in a murmur, running a hand down my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. "That is what matters."

I smiled and leaned my forehead against his. "I've told you all of this because we need a layer of honesty, if we're going to be able to put faith in each other. Even though we have our petty fights, I still care for you, and I will _not_ walk away." I glared at him, narrowing my eyes with a tiny huff. "Not while you're here, in this hellhole and suffering."

He half-smiled at my weak attempt at retribution. "I suppose you have more than proven your dedication."

My head sank into the crook of his shoulder, and he tugged me closer, almost putting me in his lap. "So have you." It hurt to think that I _could_ have walked away and left him here to rot beneath Danarius – lonely freedom was a dagger twisting in my ribs; I doubted I would have been able to live with myself if I had traveled down that road.

I cleared my throat, cuddling close to his side. "When we get a longer moment to talk, I want you to tell me what you've been doing since we've been here."

"Perhaps," he said, and I could hear a smirk in his voice. "But only if you agree to grant me the same privilege." His mirth waned. "I have had no news of how you were being treated. But it can't have been too detrimental a treatment, if your quarters are anything to judge by." He made a show of glancing around the well-furnished room.

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "I'll tell you the whole thing, once we get out of here," I promised, pressing a kiss on the heart of his mouth. "And we _must_ get out of here," I stressed, feeling a renewed sense of urgency. "If we stay, Danarius will inflict…" I ran out of words, fumbling with the meanings as his breath fanned over my face. "He'll hurt you, Fenris." I grabbed his hand again, flipping it over and gazing down upon it. "Irreparably."

"How?" he inquired, splaying his hand for my idle perusal.

"He gathered the best fighters he could and he's slowly whittling down your numbers – doesn't that seem odd?" I inquired rhetorically. _Maker, I missed touching you. _"He's aiming for the best of the best, weeding out those who are inferior." I peeked up at him, offering a half-smile. "And you're one tough bastard, Fenris. If you keep fighting, you're going to win – and then he'll have his greedy little fingers on you for all of his horrifying experiments." I sighed. "Maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but the meaning is buried there." I grasped his hand and raised it to my lips, kissing the bruised knuckles from a recent fight. "He's going to hurt you, and twist you into his plaything. Once he's through with you, you'll be in a decent amount of agonizing pain and you won't remember anything beyond it."

I let him digest that for a moment before adding, "Which is why it is so important that we get out _now_."

"You knew that it would happen," he said as it occurred to him. "That's why you attacked that day."

"Danarius had come to take you away from me," I said, splaying his hand open and holding it to my cheek. "Completely. I…had already realized that I didn't want you to go through…to become…" I sighed, losing the words again. "It was a rude awakening."

He was very quiet for the next few moments, allowing me to hold and caress his hand patiently. "I wanted you to be free," he said, his rumbling baritone low.

My heart broke. "I know," I said, tilting my head to kiss his neck. "But freedom wouldn't be the same without you by my side."

I wanted to ask if he had heard from his mother or Varania yet, but I had kept Fenris for long enough; I knew he had to leave soon or risk drawing attention to his absence.

"We have to escape," I said finally, reluctantly pulling away to stand. "We need a plan; how often can you come up here?"

Fenris shook his head ruefully, his dark hair shifting about his head. "Not often," he answered, standing with me. I raised a hand to brush the locks out of his eyes again, smiling up at him. "Marian," he said suddenly, grabbing my hand. "About – before…"

I shook my head, pulling him into another hug, not wanting him to dwell on the subject.

"I'm sorry," he said, hugging me tight. "I was – foolish. I should have sought you out, spoken with you before now."

"It's okay, Fenris," I said, backing away. "You were angry – and so was I." I raised my head and lifted up onto my toes to press another kiss to his pliant lips.

When I pulled away, he grabbed my hand and swung me back to him. "We will think of a plan." He assured me so completely with his quiet strength and gravelly voice; I relaxed against him, his hands on my corseted waist, a sliver of warmth creeping in through the material to caress my skin. "Both of us."

I half-smiled into his chest. _We will work together, for once, instead of struggling and flailing at each other's sides._

"Danarius won't have a chance." I raised my head. "But for now, you need to leave," I said regretfully, holding him just a bit tighter in rebuttal against my own words.

"I know." He exhaled slowly through his nose, gazing down upon me.

"But you'll come back," I ventured, reassuring myself that _no, this will not be our final meeting._

"I know." He seemed amused by my self-reassuring words.

"You don't hate me for being a mage," I continued, feeling my smile grow.

"I know," he repeated, definitely amused.

"And I love you," I said again, raising up for another quick meeting of lips.

"I know," he said, a bit gruffer than the last. We finally, reluctantly pulled away. I slid a hand down his arm, pulling his hand to me as he drifted to the door.

Now that I finally had him again, I _really_ didn't want to see him go.

_All of the sleepless nights, the worry of whether or not he's okay – can I really go back to that?_

There was no doubt in my mind. _Yes._

_Because I trust him to stay alive._

He drew further away, but I maintained contact with his arm, trailing after him to the door. I didn't follow past it, but stretched out my arm until he was too far away and we had to separate.

When he disappeared from sight and I finally gathered enough strength to shut the door, I began to plan, working out several different scenarios.

_Running away directly from this mansion is a futile effort,_ I thought to myself. _It's so well-guarded, there would be such little margin for error._ A hand trailed up to finally undo my hair, letting the too-long strands fall wherever they pleased.

I might've needed help to remove the dress unscathed – but if I had gotten Fenris to help me, he would never have left the room.

It took some effort, but I eventually shimmied the dress over my head and stood in my corset and underclothes, deciding that wiggling out of it was a completely different kind of evil than putting it on.

_Stupid ass Orlesian fashions._

But, thank the Maker, when it finally slid off – that first ragged, full breath was akin to a tranquil gasping at the feel of the Fade again.

I slid between the sheets of my bed after kicking off my shoes, topless and uncaring as the receding scent of Fenris lingered in the room.

I sighed happily, thinking – for once – that everything was beginning to look up for us.

As long as I didn't find a way to fuck it all up again, we could accomplish what we had set out to do from the start.

The next day – barring an interruption from Danarius – I planned to review all the spells I had learned over the past few months; if there were any that could help me come up with a decent escape plan, I would find them - but after five hours of tearing apart the library and my own fickle brain, I still was no closer to discovering a solution.

Growling and ready to tear my hair out, I slammed the book in front of me shut; I slid my chair away from the desk and thought for a moment, trying to gather all the resources we had in my mind.

_Danarius has pushed me onto the backburner. _There were no more "tests" or "lessons" – I sometimes spied Hadriana as she ran through the motions that I used to, but Danarius seemed to not care about what I did during all of my free time.

_He made his point – or so he thinks. He doesn't care about what I do unless in inversely affects him – though, I suppose that trying to escape with his best fighter "inversely affects" him._

He knows that I'm planning something, and he's waiting me out until it comes to fruition.

I stood from the chair, stretching until I heard my joints crack.

_We'll have to plan carefully – and right under the man's nose, too. He won't know what hit him until we're miles away._

I jumped when a heavy-handed rapping echoed from the door. "Yes?" I called, adjusting the skirt of my robe.

A servant entered, eyes lowered. "Master Danarius wishes for you to join him in the dungeon."

I blinked in surprise. "Oh…very well," I said, walking towards the door. "Thank you."

The servant bowed and disappeared around the corner, and I walked purposefully towards the cold, soundproof place where Danarius had shown me the dead elf – what else could "dungeon" mean?

_What does he want now?_

Dread pooled in my stomach and my eyes widened. _He can't have already figured out what Fenris and I are planning…right?_

I was suddenly very paranoid that I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

_Or, my hand in Fenris' cookie jar._

So to speak.

I smothered a snort before regaining my seriousness, dealing with the very real possibility that Danarius _had_ found out about the swift meeting I had with Fenris.

My heart quickened with my pace as I all but ran down the hall, not stopping until I stood in front of the door leading to the correct wing; all was dead silent around me, to the point where I could clearly hear each beat of my heart pounding away in my head.

I took a deep, solidifying breath and entered the doorway, crossing the room and heading down to another hallway that brought me to the cold stone steps that led down into the dungeon.

Holding onto the wall with one flat palm, I descended, spying a great amount of light at the bottom of the stairs.

When I finally approached, I noticed Danarius and a few other people - servants and attendants – in the room - and one woman, still very much alive, who was anchored down to the stone table; her skin was tanned brown from exposure to the Tevinter sun, and her muscles were very well developed and straining against her shackles.

"Taris," Danarius greeting without looking up from his papers. "How nice it was of you to join us." He set down the papers and ushered me forward, beckoning me to sit in an available chair nearby.

"The pleasure is mine," I said coolly, taking the seat.

_Don't do anything stupid._

"Now that the pleasantries have been dealt with," he said, motioning to the woman strapped to the table. "I will begin by stating that I do not need your interference with this test – only your quiet observation for future reference."

_Quiet observation, yeah._

He wants me to sit here and take notes while he tortures this girl to death with lyrium.

The attendants stood by as Danarius gracefully penned a few notes onto a nearby scrap of paper. With a look of severe concentration on his face, he summoned a few shades from the Fade – I jumped slightly, unprepared for the sight of them – yet I knew I shouldn't have been surprised -

Two servants retrieved a hefty box from the far side of the room after Danarius flicked his wrist; the box emanated a dull blue, and I smelled the heavy, blistering scent of lyrium.

_Where does he get so much disposable lyrium, anyway? Doesn't the Archon regulate it?_

A young man in a tight tunic and large pants popped the lid off, exposing large bottles with toppers.

_There has to be at least three gallons of lyrium in that box!_

When the slave came closer, Danarius grabbed a bottle from the box and popped the top off, taking a stiff inhale before turning to face the glaring woman on the table. I could smell the potent lyrium from where I was, and my eyes widened – it was the purest, most concentrated form of lyrium that I had ever seen, the color oddly light, the scent potent – the room crackled with the unspent energy.

With another inhale, I could almost see sepia in the corners of my eyes. I shook off the feeling, bringing reality into focus.

"Let's begin."

**-GH-**

A couple of attendants were cut open by the shaking hand of an older slave; they were left to bleed dry, offering up more power to Danarius as he bonded the lyrium into the tip of a sinister dagger. The extra power from their blood, he explained to me shortly, was to channel into the warrior to boost her immunity to the lyrium.

Lyrium had a way of making people go crazy – if it didn't outright kill them. I had to force myself to pay attention, to not remember my brief excursion into the Deep Roads – or the bought with the raw, oddly-colored lyrium.

The clothes were cut off the woman by the trembling hands of the remaining servants; I refused to flinch when Danarius' blade, tipped with lyrium, finally lowered to her skin, glinting devilishly in the light of the room.

Fresh screams of absolute agony echoed off the walls and into my skull; I winced when Danarius dragged the blade smoothly over the delicate, unprotected body of the warrior, her desperate cries rising in pitch.

I shut my eyes, but losing the sight did nothing to deter the violent sobs in my ears. The warrior was pinned by servants on all sides, completely unable to move as the dagger bit into her skin. Every so often, Danarius would crack open another bottle of lyrium and channel it into the dagger with magic.

A sharp scream split my eardrum and I opened my eyes to find that the woman had been flipped over and pinned face down on the stone table so Danarius could continue his work – but I could already tell that it was going awry.

The lines being carved were blue at first – but swiftly began to turn black as the woman's body – not strong enough, not possessing enough immunity - rejected and succumbed to the poisonous lyrium; her unscarred skin began to fade from a healthy brown to sallow pale color, tinged flaming red around the edges of the accursed lyrium lines.

As apparent as this failure was, Danarius didn't stop until his work was complete – until the last line had been drawn onto her back, connected to its brothers. The pattern – it wasn't what I remembered, but it seemed similar enough; the lines were even, and the amount injected seemed similar enough on both sides.

_It's not the process – it's the person._

_She isn't powerful enough –_ _resilient enough_ _– to survive._

_But I know who is._

The cries had quieted to a sick retching sound as her body tried to compensate; a hard lead brick settled in my stomach at the sound and the sight.

In just a few seconds, her form stilled and her body's attempts to cleanse itself died out; the woman shook for a moment, and froze.

I stared at her scarred back for what seemed like hours, my mind blank.

_What a terrible way to die_.

"Failure," was all Danarius said as his servants heaved a collective, relieved sigh. "Very well." He motioned to the remaining servants. "Clean this mess up and salvage all the materials you can."

He walked by me, rubbing his hands together, freeing them of the chalky feel of lyrium. He would have to wipe it off soon – lyrium that potent would have adverse affects after prolonged exposure. _As our short-lived friend found out._

"I trust you paid attention?"

"Yes." I continued staring at the poisoned back of the woman.

"Perhaps you would be willing to write a report on the occurrence? It would be refreshing to see it told from another's eyes."

I nodded, without looking at him. The woman's face was frozen in fright and pain.

"And Taris," he said, seemingly as an afterthought before he began the lengthy walk up the stairs. "I've arranged for something to be left in your room. Consider it a gift, for how much you've grown beneath my tutelage."

I wanted to snort, but held myself back with a tight-lipped frown.

_He doesn't teach me anything in weeks, and then springs _this _on me._

I heard his footsteps as he climbed up the stairs; I watched as timid servants began the long cleaning process that would take more than a few hours and require several bodies to be carried outside.

I stared at the corpse, blankly regarding the atmosphere of the room and my decreasing body temperature; my skin chilled, and the longer I sat, the colder I became. The servants and slaves scurried to clean up the bodies and blood of their brethren and I just sat – staring.

My eyes flicked across the masticated body, and as before, I saw Fenris.

But then…

The first time I had laid eyes upon a blackened, tortured person, I had felt horror – inserting Fenris into such a terrifying situation trembled me to the core. I pictured it again: Fenris, split open, blackened, lifeless.

There wasn't the same amount of horror connotative with the image – because I knew it wasn't true.

_It isn't Fenris, and that's what matters._

Years ago, I would have said that my family came first in my life. I would have said that the familial bonds between my siblings, my mother and I were far more important than anything else imaginable.

When Father died, my duty as the eldest dictated my decisions. The most precious, most important job of my young life had been to provide and protect my family. It was my purpose for every action, every move, every sacrifice.

My family was my reason for everything, for the longest time.

Then Bethany…

…and Carver…

…and when mother died, I lost that purpose.

But I felt much back then as I do now – when had purpose been given to me again?

_"Hey, uhm, Hawke,I know it's a lot to ask, and I don't mean to ask much, but do you mind-"_

"_There is this lovely hat shop – come with me, woman. Let's take a walk."_

"_Thank you, Hawke, your support means a lot to me."_

_"What do you do when you stop running?"_

I snorted into my palm.

What a rich question to ask – did he even know me at all?

Never had I merely "stopped running" – it had always been "catching a breath" or "biding time" until we were chased off again. I was an apostate, illegal for being alive and constantly hunted – if not quite directly, since fleeing the Blight. Wealth protected me in Kirkwall, but I was certain my luck with the Templar was quickly expiring; Cullen would not continue having mercy upon me if I continued to meddle in affairs more important than my own.

_Yes, I have an important cousin that he has a crush on – but however fancy the name "Amell" is, it can't very well halt a Templar attack._

_The truth is simple: you never stop running once you start._

How did I stand to spout such bullshit, before? A laugh – _you build a life, begin again._

If you never began, how could you do it a second time? Or a third time?

I thought all the trivial nonsense, keeping myself alive, having a home to sleep in, eating decent meals – was important.

As a slave, those trivialities meant nothing. My life was not my own, and I had no home to lay my head within. Not one that was mine, anyhow.

I had thought once – _if not for myself or for my family, then why live_?

_What could be so important that I would stake my life upon it?_

This woman – she laid her life down for power. She surrendered everything to be stronger – but I care nothing for wealth or power. Not really.

_"Hawke, I need you with me."_

_"Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you."_

_"Oh, boo. Another spider's nest – I could have sworn they said "treasure chest". I promise it won't happen again, Hawke!"_

_"That's what you're here for, right? To keep all these ducks in a row? I have to hand it to you, Hawke, you're better at mothering than my own mother."_

I snorted wetly, a trickle of moisture winding its way down my arm. _Maker, I miss them all._

_All of them are my reason for continuing. Andraste's underclothes, I feel like I _am _their mother sometimes._

_I could have never asked for better friends – but this… this is more important._

_Saving Fenris and protecting what I love._

I wiped my palm over my eyes and cleared my throat. The slaves were gone, and so were all the bodies.

_Maker, yes, I love them all – but they won't change. They grow, but their lives aren't taken from them. They are still themselves at the core –_

_But Fenris won't have that chance if I don't change this. He won't know who he is. Leto will be gone forever, with a flick of a wrist and the bite of a dagger._

_Fenris will never suffer this fate – not while I can stop it._

_And I will._

I sighed and stood, removing my thoughts from the dead woman.

_Even if I can't - that won't be Fenris, dead on a slab - regardless of what happens._

_He's stronger than that._

**GH-**

I peered, dumbfound, at the new toy sitting in my room.

_What does this mean?_

Does he trust me to not act against him, now?

Do I really seem that cowed?

What _else_ could it mean? I certainly hadn't been a good enough student – he'd been completely ignoring me for weeks!

I glared at the polished wood, the delicate markings -

_No_._ He's been _waiting _for me to run away._

_I bet it has some sort of tracking rune on it, that clever bastard._

I quirked an eyebrow at it, reconsidering. _He knows I'm not stupid enough to fall for that – when we _do _finally make our escape, I won't be bringing this thing along._

It felt nice in my hands – smooth and powerful. Dainty, yet imposing.

I gave it a test whirl, estimating the density and length – _our escape will be made easier by this,_ I thought with a measured smile, swinging it again. _Thank you for the gift, Danarius._

I started violently when there was a knock on the door; I jerked my head, only to see the raised eyebrow of Fenris, who was leaning coolly against my doorframe.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, quietly shutting the door behind him.

I smiled at him and leaned my new toy up against the wall. "There's nothing more important to me than you," I said with no small amount of cheese as I walked up to him for a quick kiss. "What brings you here?"

Fenris shook his head and I motioned for us to sit down on the bed. After we were comfortable, he responded, "I had a free moment." His hand reached out to catch my jaw, lifting my chin so he could lay a kiss on my mouth.

_Yeah, right._

_Since when does "I had a free moment" suddenly mean "I missed you"?_

Unwilling to attack his pride, I smiled and kissed him back, happy enough that he was here again.

_I wonder if that girl was his friend._

Mood immediately killed, I backed away from him slightly, trying not to show my troubled thoughts on my face. Instead, I decided to get my mind off of the dead woman and focus on Fenris, who was very much alive and before me.

"Do you know when you have to fight next?" I asked.

Fenris nodded, face grim. "It will be the last one," he said, leaning back slightly on the bed. "There are only a few of us left that are here; others will be donated from other magisters as gifts to Danarius – and a few volunteers."

I shook my head. "Idiots," I hissed under my breath. I glanced up at Fenris, who had narrowed his eyes at me. "No offense."

Fenris chuckled, but it died quickly. "I'm sorry to admit that I haven't thought of an escape plan yet."

I sighed and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Me neither."

_At least we're together, now._

"But if this is your last fight," I turned to look up at him, "we need to make it count. We're running out of time."

"Agreed," he said shortly. His eyes trailed over to my new staff. "Is that yours?"

His voice sounded vaguely uncomfortable – which made me grin.

"Yep," I said, standing and taking a hold of it. I gave it another test whirl. "I was given it today, apparently. Danarius must trust me enough to let me have it." I set it back down. "Or he thinks I'm stupid enough to run away with it – I haven't decided which." I stroked the polished mahogany wood with my thumb. "It's pretty, though. Probably one of the nicest staffs I've ever had."

"Have you had many?" he asked, settling on my bed and pulling his feet up.

"Before, yes," I said, walking around the bed to the other side. "My misfits and I – we would kill a band of apostates daily – which may sound a little hypocritical. But I never resorted to blood magic or demons." I crawled in the bed beside him, snuggling closer until my head rested comfortably on his shoulder. "And I never will. I think that widens the divide between me and most mages." I shook my head, smiling and tilting my head up to meet Fenris' eye. "Anyway, whenever we killed someone who had a better staff than I, I would take it."

"Interesting," Fenris said, fighting a reluctant smile of his own. "Killing and robbing dead men. Freedom is glamorous."

I slapped his stomach with the back of my hand, laughing. "Whatever you say, _warrior_. All is fair if they attack me first."

"Ah, so there are parameters to your style of execution."

I laughed again, shaking my head. "Don't _say_ it like that. I don't just kill people." I thought a moment. "Well, maybe I do. But _only_ if they attack us first. It's a dog eat dog world out there."

"Perhaps in Ferelden."

"Was that a joke?" I sat up, poking him in the stomach. "Are you implying something about my home?"

"I thought Kirkwall was your home," Fenris said innocently, dark eyebrows high over those dark green eyes.

I rolled mine. "Fine." I sighed and fell back beside him again, reveling in his quiet warmth. "But I still remember how you called me _Fereldan_ when we first met."

"And I remember how a pesky girl called me Fenris," he retorted. I chuckled, pressing my face into his neck.

"You'll always be Fenris to me," I said, placing a kiss beneath his jaw.

"Unless you're angry with me," Fenris noted.

I sat up and looked at him. "You aren't sore about that, are you? That I called you Leto?"

"No," he said quickly – and not very believably. I stared at him dubiously.

"You _are_," I said incredulously. "I didn't think you liked being called Fenris."

"I like _you_ calling me Fenris," he said quietly.

_Makerdamn it. When did he get sweet?_

I sighed and leaned up to kiss him. "For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry for calling you Leto."

He grabbed the front of my robes as I pulled back from him and yanked me back to his lips, pulling me into a more passionate kiss – butterflies exploded in my stomach as he pulled me tight against him, one hand winding into my hair as the kiss deepened.

I saw stars for a few seconds after he released me; my nose slid against his as we panted, catching our breaths.

"Whoa," I said, smiling. "I missed you, too." My legs were on either side of his hips, and I leaned forward, holding onto him. His arms came around me and hugged me closer, cradling me to his chest.

I heard his pointy ear tap the headboard as he laid his head on mine. "I need to leave."

"I know," I said regretfully, not moving. _Would it be too much for me to ask him to pick me up and carry him with him, just like this?_

After a few more minutes of holding each other close, he sat up completely, setting me on the bed beside him. I released my hold of his waist and pouted as he stood.

"I'll come up here when I can," he said as he adjusted his clothes, smoothing out a few wrinkles.

"That hardly seems fair," I said, still pouting on the bed. "I _could_ come to see you."

"No," he said immediately, startling me with the vehement tone. In a slightly gentler voice, he said, "it's too dangerous for you if you're caught."

I groaned. "It's dangerous for _both_ of us," I pointed out, but he didn't listen, waving me off with his hand.

"_I _will come to see _you_." There was a note of finality in his voice.

I sighed. "Fine." I didn't really want to fight him on it, anyway. "Have it your way." The corners of my mouth trembled as I tried to fight my smile, standing with him.

I raised up on my toes to kiss him again, one final time. "Be careful," I said. "I'll inform you if I come up with a plan."

He nodded, and then was gone; I stared at the shut door for the longest time, beating back the hopeless worry that clawed up my throat when he was away from me.

_He's a big boy,_ I told myself firmly. _If he can't take care of himself, then I'm absolutely doomed._

**-GH-**

Pana's hair was up when I met with her next. A big grin lit my face and I hugged her to me as I asked about everything – her studies, the people she worked with, Alois.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling me to a table in the healing room. It was deserted today; there hadn't been any accidents, and there hadn't been any sanctioned fights lately. We were having lunch together – I had snuck up a healthy serving of fruit and bread, and she practically salivated when she laid eyes on the spread. "I'm learning so much now, even without the help of some of the older servants; every time there is an accident and someone gets hurt on the grounds, I'm allowed to heal them by myself."

Pana smiled proudly and I offered her a sliced half of melon. She stuffed a few bites into her mouth greedily, seemingly swallowing them whole and I laughed at her readiness to eat the sweet fruit.

"It won't disappear," I assured her.

She swallowed, her cheeks tinting pink. "I know," she said abashedly. "It's just – I'm not used to –" she motioned to the fine food and I nodded in understanding.

"You're being treated differently because people recognize that you're special," I said, clarifying. I patted her knee, noting the new pair of robes she was wearing – a light green that complimented her pretty, wide eyes. "But that doesn't mean your food will evaporate."

She giggled, but ate slower. I asked her about more things – how the people were treating her, what kind of magic she did – but we never spoke about Fenris.

I didn't want to give anything away, and she must have thought we were still fighting. _I wish I could tell her._

_Why couldn't we take her with us?_

I bit my lip, thinking. _It would be worse for her if we did – she's still so young, and I can't take the risk of someone finding out – especially from her._

_It would crush her if we were caught because she let something slip – no, it's better for us to get out now and come back for her later. Danarius hasn't touched her yet, and she's being treated better than she ever was with Fausta -_

_That may be because you're here, _a glowering voice at the back of my head whispered. _Danarius knows how your temper can blow. He's biding his time until he knows for sure he has you on a leash – he's treating her kindly because you're her protection._

_He can use her against me, but if he does I will do my best to make his life hell._

_He has to know that I wouldn't stand for bad treatment of Pana._

_Or, he could be favoring his new, naturally gifted spiritual healer._

We packed up our plates and walked from the room; I offered to walk down to the kitchen to return the dinnerware and continue our chat and she readily agreed, carrying the utensils down at my side.

We surpassed the slave staircase and went straight for the most prominent, public staircase.

We weren't going to hide – I was his apprentice, and so was Pana – if not technically.

We weren't slaves, and I wouldn't stand to be treated like one – no matter what occurred behind closed doors.

Strange looks were sent our way as we dropped off our plates, thanking the slaves for their work. Our eyes met and we carefully inched from the kitchen; as soon as the door swung shut behind us we burst into laughter, skipping across to the foyer to the massive stairs.

Before we ascended, I spotted the top of Danarius' gray head as he spoke with another man. I slowed Pana, holding out a hand as I waited, trying to get a glimpse of the person he was speaking to.

In the end, I didn't have to – the man glimpsed me first.

"Is this your Taris?" the man asked, raising a hand to usher me over. I wiggled my eyebrows at Pana and held onto her arm, pulling her over with me. Her reluctant feet followed mine as we approached the men.

We bowed respectfully as Danarius made the introductions – but the man had heard enough about me.

"You keep too many secrets, Danarius," the man chided our master good-naturedly, a smirk on his chapped lips. "Two beautiful mage girls in one manor? You surely have found a fruit tree that I have not yet heard of."

I smiled graciously and Danarius' reluctantly mirrored my expression. "Yes, I do believe I have a way of selecting finer goods."

"Yes, well," the man said, stepping away. "If our business is so concluded, I'll take my leave."

"Very well," Danarius spoke, unhurried. His eyes were cold; I had the impression that we had barged in on a dispute.

The man headed for the door, escorted by a butler. But before he reached the entrance of the foyer, he paused and looked back at our slowly dispersing group. "Magister Danarius," the man called, as if something occurred to him. "You should bring Taris out more often and show her around the city. From what I've heard, she's a charming young woman – it would be a shame if she, as your apprentice, didn't get her share of social interaction."

_Meaning: show me around in public more, or you'll be labeled as a bad master._

I fought off a smirk. _Ha. I like this guy. He's definitely got problems with ol' Dan._

I mentally crinkled my nose at myself for the nickname.

Danarius nodded; I could see the poisonous thoughts stewing in his stormy eyes. "She will be present at the next outing," he assured. "The arena is no place for such delicate figures, but I am assured that Taris can handle it."

The man chuckled and replied in kind, saying something about what good sport the affairs were, but I couldn't discern the words, my mind bounding across fields of opportunity.

_Bingo._

_This man is from the Golden City, surely. Now, I know for certain that I will be out of the castle when Fenris is._

I cocked my head, smiling politely as the man bade his farewells and left. A scowl marked Danarius' face as he turned heel and stalked away, leaving me and Pana behind at the edge of the foyer.

But I hardly noticed , so lost in thought was I.

_It won't be easy to just slip into the crowd – but why wouldn't it be?_

Fenris said this is the last event – there should be hundreds, if not a thousand people present.

The problem lies in how to stall the guards that will come after us.

As I distractedly escorted Pana back upstairs and bade her good day, I planned.

_I'm one hell of a mage,_ I thought, flexing my fingers and feeling the lightning sizzle in my palm. _But I can't hold all of them off alone._

I smirked when I entered my room, spying the woodened, heavily runed staff leaning against the wall.

_Unbeknownst to Danarius, he's given me just the tool I need to pull all of this off._

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, my! Any idea as to what she has planned? I really wanted a sweet moment between Marian and Fenris in this chapter, so I indulged myself. Sue me!<strong>

**I leave in the morning, so I wanted to hurry up and get this one out since I don't know when I'll be able to update next. Never fear, though, the next chapter is all but finished, so keep your fingers crossed for me! C:**


	25. ACT TWO 21 Flight

**I'm sorry if it seems like this skips ahead and rushes a little; please, nobody get whiplash on me, I just didn't want to post another filler chapter! LET'S GOO ALREADEEEHH~**

* * *

><p><em>"To the right, to the left<em>  
><em>We will fight to the death<em>  
><em>to the edge of the earth<em>  
><em>it's a brave new world <em>  
><em>it's a brave new world."<em>

- _War_, 30 Seconds to Mars

* * *

><p><strong>ACT TWO <strong>

**AUTONOMY**

**21. Flight**

The finale event - Danarius' final, extravagant fight - would be held today.

I had never felt more nervous; not when facing the Darkspawn, joining a mercenary guild, or trekking into the Deep Roads; everything was on the line for Fenris and me - if we didn't get out now, we would never get this chance again.

Danarius had planned this event from the beginning - he had finally narrowed down his source of fighters to sixteen damn good professionals. Fenris had informed me in a very brief meeting that, in the arena today, they would be sent out four at a time - the survivors of each bought would be replenished and healed, and at the end of the day, there would be only four left – four out of any of the fighters, ones Danarius owned, ones that were competing to honor their respective owners, or those who had volunteered willingly for glory or for a boon.

It didn't matter. We had a very narrow window of opportunity, and we both counted on the other to hold up our respective responsibilities.

Fenris had to survive.

I had to magic us out of the line of fire.

The road was as bumpy as ever on the ride over; I sat with my new staff perched beside me, twiddling my thumbs. Danarius sat across from me; unlike before, we were the only two in the cart, and it was awkward as hell.

The fighters had ridden on earlier in the morning; I had had no opportunity to wish Fenris well before the fight began, no time to kiss him for luck – and I hadn't seen or heard from him in a week.

One tough week of training for him, I assumed, and one forced week of practice for me – cleverly disguised practice, that is, since I couldn't very well practice my escape technique fully.

_I hope I have enough stamina to pull this off. _It was a piece of magic that I had never attempted before, but had frequently seen – the concept was simple, but I was prepared to put it in use at a much larger scale than a normal mage would conceive.

_Whatever gets us out,_ I reminded myself, inhaling slowly to calm my shot nerves. I practiced the simple kinetic cage whenever I had the chance, making barriers around objects that had no business being caged – apples, my bed, my wardrobe, and finally a dinner table that I happened to walk by.

The magic, however simple, would be completely staggering when on the humongous scale.

_Aim high, and all,_ I thought, trying to cheer myself up as I peered behind the curtain, watching voyeuristically as some person tripped and fell straight into a cabbage cart.

I snorted, dropping the curtain. _Ha. See! It happens to other people, too._

_Although, it's kind of sad that I'm accustomed to falling on my face in failure these days._

_I only hope that failure doesn't apply to today._

I worried my lip, continuing to stare at the dark curtain contemplatively. If Fenris was counted among the last group to fight, the fourth fight, our window of opportunity would fade into nothingness – directly after that fight, everyone would pack up and go home – or in the case of the remaining fighters, they would all be sent to Danarius' manor. If they threw him into the fight during the fourth and final battle, we would have to fall into a backup plan and wait for another day – if there would _be_ another day.

But, despite my nerves, I felt a strong feeling of imminent success. There was always a chance that something could go wrong - but there was an equal chance that it would go right.

Still, I agonized and dragged over every single detail in my mind, making sure that I knew my part perfectly, and that we would be leaving no cut corners on our way out. _One should never be too assured of themselves_, I heard my mother say.

The battle seemed so grand in its scope, culling off so many of the fighters - Danarius could very well decide that four candidates were enough and go on with the ritual and burn markings on all of their hides, crowning the one who lived as his new personal body guard. I wasn't sure what he had planned after this fight, but I was certain that it would be imperative to get out _now_.

_If I ever see that damn mansion again, it'll be too soon._

_What if this doesn't work? What if there is another way?_

I had never been adept at disguising myself in shadows; that was Isabela's forte, and no matter how often she tried to teach me to make myself vague enough to disappear from sight, I could never catch on.

_Sneaking out won't be an option; we have to break ourselves out and keep the rest from following us. This is the best chance for making a run for it._

Most of the guards would be stationed on the inside, watching the fighters and keeping the patrons in line; in between the fights, they would escort and watch those among the fighters who would be heading out into battle – but the warriors coming inside would be given leniency, since they would be injured and tired.

_If Fenris sustains any injuries, they will be a blessing and a curse._ The worse his injuries were, the less closely the guards would watch him; it would be simple for him to slip from their minds and sneak out quickly. He knew this arena; he knew the back entrance – there were guards there, but he had assured me that he could take them.

Which brought me full circle back to being injured: if he was injured, his movement possibly hindered, the plan would be ruined. My magic wouldn't affect anyone beyond the building, and if he didn't make it out within a few minutes of his fight, I would either have to head back in to get him or make a run for it by myself; and if I took the former action, I could never be sure if I could actually _help_ him or if I would kill both of our chances – using as much power as I was prepared to use in our initial move, expending that much energy to lock those people inside – it could cripple me.

I inhaled dust and listened to the lively sounds of a market in full swing outside the four walls of the cart – the baying of animals, people arguing, the jingle of a purse. I almost smiled, so reminded was I of Lothering - the farmers' wives heckling for better prices in the market, the sounds of children playing at the expense of the Templar men - who were the butts of their jokes and pranks.

I glanced at Danarius out of the corner of my eye. He seemed as lost in thought as I, fingering a ring on his finger idly.

I had to come up with a plan to leave his side - but ever since our confrontation in his office, he no longer kept a tight leash on me.

_He thinks that he doesn't have to_, I thought, _that he's instilled enough fear into me that I won't try anything_.

_Joke's on you, Danarius._

I cleared my throat, turning my head to face him. "Would you mind terribly if I mingled with the crowd a little?" I asked, putting on my best Wicked Grace face.

He had expressed before, during the ball, that I might enjoy "mingling" with people, since I was quite socially inactive, being trapped in his home. And it was true enough - I saw Pana occasionally, but not often; she was always busy pursuing her talents, which she had every right to - but I missed the presence of people to which I could relate.

_At least now I have Fenris_, I mused to myself.

"Planning to cause trouble?" Danarius said easily with a jaunty raise of his eyebrow.

_He doesn't know. He doesn't know. He can't know._

_Shit, he knows._

_He has to know._

_But he couldn't know!_

_Damn him_. I laughed, trying to make it sound as genuine as possible despite my inner distress. "Indeed. I have so few peers to speak with, as Hadriana despises me - and none of the servants can hold a very lively conversation." I cracked a knuckle on my hand. "I think I would like to cause some trouble – a little, at the very least."

Danarius left me with a withering sigh as the cart stopped. "Very well, Taris; I'm sure you are aware of the repercussions, should you make any foolish attempt to escape." He smiled wryly, thinking himself clever. "Enjoy yourself today."

_You have no idea_.

"Taris, before we leave," his voice pulled me back as I shifted to exit the cart. "I would like to remind you that I have very many friends – powerful friends – at my disposal, and several of them will find themselves seated at this event." His eyebrows rose. "It is your choice whether or not you take the opportunity to integrate yourself into the social circles of the Imperium – it is also your choice if you wish face a bloody death at the hands of a guard." Danarius' hand lifted, signaling for me to take my leave. "I suggest you behave yourself."

_Don't glare, don't glare, don't glare._

_Shit, I'm glaring._ I turned frantically, trying not to show my ire on my face.

_Is he trying to be funny?_ My finger twitched.

_May you rot in hell, Danarius._

I was ushered out of the cart first by the coachman; being a lady had its privileges, and I wanted to put as much space in between me and the magister as possible. I surveyed the surroundings - there were several carts and coachmen waiting in the sun for their masters to tire themselves of bloodsport - there were also a few loose horses milling about, as well, tied off to posts and whinnying morosely in the sun.

I walked into the stadium and immediately headed for the stairs, forgoing those that Danarius would use to climb to his private box. I ran up every flight I spotted, sometimes having to jog down a hallway and dodge a leisurely climbing person to get to the next set, not stopping until I had reached the very top, breathless and winded.

When sunlight broke over my head, I knew that I was high enough; I panted heavily, thoroughly out of breath, my heart bounding. There was a short banister ringing the upper level; when I looked over it, a wave of dizziness crashed over me and I had to take a step back.

_Whoa_.

I held my staff in one hand, leveling myself against the stone beneath me.

_It looks a lot bigger from this end_, I remarked to myself. I peered down at the sand below, only _just_ able to spy the people setting up the weapons for the match.

_It's impossible_, I wanted to think, contemplating a spell on such a large scale. But just as the thought formed, I heard my father's voice speak above it:

_Nothing is impossible for a Hawke_.

I took a deep breath and thumbed the blue potion beneath my robes - I had nicked it from the healing room before I had descended the stairs to join Danarius earlier. I readied myself for anything.

Only a few other people ventured as high as I; they slowly walked past me, trading a greeting and a few words, remarking on the view and the sunlight. I smiled thinly and returned similar observations until they walked off, to the other side of the stadium, leaving me to my own thoughts.

The floor was dusty beneath my feet as I contemplated the arena, staff readily held in hand.

As soon as we fled, I would have to abandon the magic conducting staff –gift or not, I didn't trust anything Danarius gave me. I couldn't bear to leave anything to chance, and I had no idea if Danarius had a tracking spell woven into the light wood. There was no time to make certain, now, and it would be just as simple to leave it behind – I could already perform most spells without the aid of a staff, thanks to Danarius himself.

Fenris would be below my feet, in the belly of the stone beast that was the stadium, sizing up his opponents and readying his arm.

The thought of him down there sent waves of unease through me, and I was alarmingly aware of the many things that could go wrong today.

He could very well die.

The fact that he was fighting was a simpler obstacle to grasp when I didn't have to witness the act; but here, with the thundering crowd in the stands and the powerful fighters below, it was a very real concept that he could be killed.

I shivered, even though it was stifling beneath my robes. My hem billowed dust into the air, the particles sticking in my throat.

What if Fenris died?

What if he wasn't strong enough?

What if Danarius knew what we were planning?

_Have faith in him._

_He has faith in you._

I took a steadying breath. Fenris was no easy match; I knew how powerful he was. I would have to believe that he was the strongest man there.

My feet pulled me to the edge of the walkway, and I stood between two pillars, my eyes scanning the crowd filling the stands.

There were so many bodies filling the place. Person after person, mage and nonmage alike took their seats, but my eyes only flashed to one whiskered face.

Danarius stood in a loft, laughing and greeting his peers with ease.

He was the man of the hour, for hosting such a wonderful show.

No one had the foggiest suggestion as to why this was happening; these people, the spectators in the stands, they all thought that this was an exhibition for their own enjoyment, courtesy of Danarius.

They would never imagine that this was Danarius' way of narrowing down these fighters to a private selection of body guards; they would never know what would happen to the men proclaimed victorious.

I did.

I had seen evidence of it, writhing and gasping on a gurney, blackened and screaming in pain.

I swallowed thickly, looking away from the posh seating on the balcony, feeling sickened.

Danarius was using good men for the sake of his own sick exhibition. Not only was he gaining a powerful bodyguard, but he was showing the audience of Minrathous that he had the resources to be extravagant in order to entertain his people.

My eyes were drawn to the center of the stadium: the arena. Full of wafting dust, I could not determine if it was intended to be sandy or ended up that way with all the lingering sand from the occasional sandstorm. My eyes flicked to the gate where the fighters would emerge from.

I inhaled deeply. All the fighters were elite men and women who had qualified for this final round; Fenris was counted among the sixteen that had doggedly fought and pursued this one ambition, and they had all ended up here.

Their unlikely graveyard.

Unlike the others, however, Fenris and I truly intended to escape slave life. Fenris wasn't going to be upgraded to Danarius' bodyguard.

Fenris was going to be upgraded into a free man. It had been my fault that Fenris was brought into Danarius' eye; it would be my assistance that pulled us from his view.

We would survive.

We had to.

I felt the faint calling of magic surge through the air; my eyes snapped to Danarius once again as he approached a tall podium reserved for the host, his hand on his throat.

"I would like to welcome you all to this event, my friends," Danarius said, his voice carrying loudly across the stadium with a little bit of magical aid. The roar of the crowd dwindled as everyone looked to him, quieting.

"I hope that you will all enjoy yourselves this morning," he continued, grinning like a snake. I glared at him, hoping he would feel the heat of my eyes scorching him.

His cold eyes met mine, and we locked gazes.

_I'm going to leave, and I'm taking him with me_, I thundered in my mind, feeling a slow smile spread across my face.

His mouth was moving, but I didn't care what he said. _All lies_.

"-the first of our challengers," he said lifting his hands. My eyes remained on his, defiant and angry.

His smile tightened – _does he really suspect-?_

Of course he does.

_There is nothing you can do to stop us._

The crowd continued where it left off, a bloodthirsty roar echoing past the walls. My ears rang with the force of it, my skin prickled at the feeling that trembled down my spine.

_I am not afraid of you._

The gate opened, and I dragged my eyes away from Danarius to watch the wrought iron ascend, more than likely drawn by slaves.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I wondered if he would emerge.

My fingers curled around my staff and I watched, breath shuddering as five men surfaced, all dazedly staring around at the stands of screaming onlookers. The gate closed behind the last elf, and I felt agitation rise in my gut.

_No Fenris._

The men broke into a run to the far side of the arena; I watched as their tough legs served them well, their muscles pushing them faster than I could ever dream to be.

They reached a cache of weapons that I hadn't noticed was there; the man to reach the weapons first selected a heavy battle axe that weighed down his arm. An elf in the back retrieved a bow and arrow, and another scavenged a pack of throwing knives.

All glared intensely in the heat of the sun, and the first man to strike broke the dam of excitement. Like coiled springs, they all leapt into action, throwing and slicing and ducking and rolling.

I averted my eyes as an arc of blood twisted into the air, painting the sand.

I bided my time, searching the place for exits. I knew exactly where Fenris would be; I had already designed our escape plan perfectly with that perspective in mind.

Still, it was always prudent to have a backup plan, just in case things went belly up.

I knew when there was only one man left standing; my ears whistled with the screaming of the fans, and my eyes strayed back to see the hulking man raising his arms and shouting with victory; he was escorted from the field and into the alcove he had entered from, stabbing his axe into the sand as he left.

_Don't act so happy about it,_ I thought with a grimace. _If you only knew..._

As soon as he reached the shaded area, four new candidates were released from the gate, all igniting into a quick pace to the weapon racks across the arena.

My heart lodged in my throat when I saw a lanky elf jab a man in his side with his elbow. The man went down, and the elf leaped over the mass of muscle and hair and leather to get ahead of him.

I couldn't see his head beneath the helmet he wore, but I knew that it was Fenris.

I wanted to call out to him, to let him know I was supporting him, but I knew he wouldn't hear me. Even if he could, it would only distract him from his purpose.

"Fenris," I whispered, inhaling around the name. It had to be him; he dodged the bite of the winner's axe – which someone had been so gracious as to grab - to snatch a greatsword from the wall.

Danarius had forced him to become an expert at wielding the killing tool, as was evident by how easily he could manipulate and kill with the blade. Still, it wasn't as effortless as he would wield it in time, but for now -

"You can do this, Fenris," I said, more for myself than for him, but anxiously watched as he took the head from an opponent.

The two remaining men backed away from him as he slung his blade, splattering the blood across their faces and leaping back into action.

The crowd ate it up, yelling in encouragement.

Danarius was smiling.

The human dove at Fenris, but he ducked, twisting around him. His blade sank into the man's side as another elf's elbow connected to Fenris' helmeted face, making him stumble backwards.

I winced.

Fenris staggered beneath the twirl of a sword and kicked at its human wielder, pushing him over and pushing towards the elf who had elbowed him. I exhaled as the fight escalated, the two fighters realizing that Fenris was no one to be trifled with. They ganged up on him unconsciously, an unfair challenge, and attacked as one, swiftly diving back into a fray.

But my Fenris was faster. He leapt into the air, his knee connecting with the bleeding human's head. He dropped, and Fenris fell with him, rolling as a weapon descended.

_Behind you_, I willed him as the elf approached, two throwing blades in hand. Fenris rolled to his feet, pulling his blade around in time to catch the elf's attack. He blocked both blades, shielding himself with the giant sword before taking a leap at the other elf.

_Yes_, my mind cheered, grinning. He was glorious, all muscle and steel and power. His technique was flawless, his passion undeterred as he turned back on the human, parrying the man's blade away.

-and then a knife whistled through the air, lodging deep into his shoulder. My face transformed into a mask of horror as I watched him drop his sword to the ground, unable to see his face but having a clear sight of the blood pooling beneath his armor.

The crowd cheered.

"Fenris!" I yelled, grasping the edge of the sun baked, hot balcony wall, my toes curling in my restricting shoes in fear. The human man saw Fenris' distracted position and lurched forward to take the advantage as the other elf grew preoccupied with swiftly retrieving his loose knives. "_Get up, Fenris_!" I screamed at him, helpless as he hunched over, his uninjured arm reaching behind him to try and pull out the blade in his shoulder.

"Friend of yours?" asked a curious voice from my left. I ignored it, my eyes too intent on watching the scene unfold in front of me. "Such a shame, really; I understand you don't have a great number of friends."

My eyes flicked sideways at the man's face, noting that it was the man who had requested Danarius bring me today – I felt a trickle of gratitude, but couldn't fully express it at the blond haired man at that moment.

My eyes moved back to Fenris, who was still down.

_Get up._

_Get up._

_Maker damn it, get up!_

It wouldn't end like this - it couldn't end like this. But I was unable to help. If this had been any other event, I could have ran to his aid, but for this...

He was completely on his own.

"_Fenris_!" I screamed his name until my face went red from exertion. Fenris, spotting the man stalking towards him, scrambled to his feet and stumbled away, one arm curling lifelessly at his side and the other grabbing his sword.

"Resilient elf, isn't he?" the man to my right remarked. I ignored him again, focusing on the fight.

His straining hand lifted his blade in defense as a trio of blades crashed down at him, forcing his weapon aside. Grip shaky with the lack of his other hand, it fell from his grasp; I shouted in desperation, willing him to _run_, to _get out of there_, to _kill that man _before he could attack.

But Fenris could do none of those things; his arm was useless, dangling at his side, preventing him from wielding the greatsword efficiently.

I beat my fist against the shallow wall of the balcony. All he could do was dodge, but that wouldn't ensure his victory.

The man struck again, but Fenris ducked out of the way, panting heavily. Blood dripped down his arm, and I shut my eyes.

The crowd cried out in surprise a few moments later, and my eyes tentatively opened.

An elf - the one who had injured Fenris - had thrown a dart into the human man's neck while had been distracted by getting a hit on Fenris. I saw him crumpled on the floor of the arena, lifeless, his sword collecting sand.

Fenris perched on the wall rack of weapons, a crossbow in hand, his feet resting lightly on a wooden beam – having jumped up there in the few seconds my eyes were shut. I inhaled a deep breath through my nose at the sight. The blond, aged man to my right laughed heartily at Fenris' ingenuity.

He sent an arrow at the leg of the elf with throwing knives, but the man dodged, rolling to the side, throwing out a blade in retribution. It sliced Fenris' deadweight arm, but that didn't deter him.

Fenris impressed me with his ability to improvise with whatever tool was near –_ with one working arm, even;_ when keeping the man at bay with arrows ceased to be effective, he leapt from the rack, but not before gleaning a thin, Orlesian sword from the bunch to attack with.

My eyes flickered to the place where Danarius rested, only to find him looking bored. My breath hitched in anger and frustration.

How could he be _bored_?

_The blighter_.

I had to trust in Fenris' ability to win.

"I suppose I'll come back after this fight," the man said. I nodded idly in his direction, not wanting to be rude, but not particularly caring.

_Just leave._ No amount of gratefulness towards him for getting me here would distract me from this fight.

Fenris poised to attack, but his opponent slid a blade into his hand and flung it outward, cutting deep into the flesh of Fenris' leg; I winced.

Fenris rolled out of the way before another wound could be dealt, one hand straying to his thigh in a ditch effort to stop the flow of blood.

I knew this would be hard to watch, but I could never have fathomed just how hard it would be. The sun had risen, hot and white in the noonday sky, pounding against the sand in the arena until my vision wavered with the scorch of it.

Fenris leapt backwards as another blade shot out, and I winced as it narrowly missed him. Everything but my vision faded out; I no longer heard the cries of surprise and suspense from the crowd, I no longer felt the heat on my back, the sweat on my neck, or the sting of dust in my eyes.

All I saw was Fenris as a knife found its way to him, barely slicing between a gap in his armor, cutting the skin on his side. Fenris wouldn't give up, however, and feinted to the side as the elf angled him back to the weapon rack, picking up a discarded blade as he did so, lifting it with both hands as a mockery to Fenris' limp arm.

The fighter fell upon him and they engaged in a few blows and parries; Fenris was knocked off balance long enough for his opponent to deal a heavy blow to his head with a stroke of his hilt, snapping his head back.

I gripped the short wall with my fingers, watching Fenris dart away with the extra momentum, only to return swinging, his movements desperate and erratic.

The other fighter barely had time to parry the attacks, they were so numerous and swift; in a split second, the other's blade had been knocked aside, and Fenris had sent his blade straight into the elf's heart.

I pounded my fists against the wall, yelling triumphantly with the rest of the crowd.

Fenris was the winner.

I laughed, punching the air in triumph. We had won.

Fenris was alive.

An escort wandered into the field to assist Fenris down to where the previous victor had vanished; four more fighters took to the field, and I lifted my staff.

I had to move quickly; they wouldn't miss Fenris for another two rounds – we were lucky he had taken to the field so early. It gave us a much wider time range to make our escape.

I waited thirty seconds, counting by the beats of my heart.

_Wait._

_Give him time._

_All of this doesn't mean anything if I trap him in here with them._

The scent of heat and sweat were thick in the air, swirling around my head like a troupe of flies. I gripped my staff, holding onto it as if it were a safety net, praying to the Maker that all would go as planned.

_Now or never,_ I thought, lifting my staff over my head and summoning all of the energy I had within me.

With a sharp bellow, I twirled my staff and slammed it to the stone, channeling my magic into the coliseum itself. I poured all of my power, my entire essence into this one spell, gritting my teeth, hearing the _snap-hiss _of power as it surged around the brim of the stadium, locking over all of the spectators within the kinetic barrier.

A loud keening whine filled my ears, and after the black spots faded from my vision, I realized it was me; I ceased the noise immediately, panting and sweating, leaning heavily onto my staff as I fed my magic into the new barrier around the stadium.

_Nothing goes in, and nothing comes out._

A steady, low thrumming hum danced around the edge of my hearing. My legs trembled and my nose bled; a shaking hand trailed into my robe and removed the lyrium potion, downing it in one swallow – but it didn't help, my vision spotted black and my temples pounded and I wheezed, feeling more energy drain out of me by the second.

_Need to hurry_.

My walls didn't go unnoticed, but none of my captives would be able to break through for at least a half-hour – maybe.

I hoped I could last that long.

Mages raised their own staffs and hands, flinging magic at my walls; I felt each impact as a sharp pinprick in my head and winced at every blow.

I turned, glancing away from the stadium, satisfied with my work – and as I turned, I noticed that Danarius was missing from his spot.

_Ohshit_

I flung myself over the outside wall, easily breaking through my own barrier to slide down the concrete wall, the soles of my shoes rubbing thin on the stone on the way down – I held out my staff and flung a gale of wind at the ground a second before I would hit it, effectively breaking my fall and allowing me to topple to the ground with a less than graceful impact; my arm wrenched and I hissed in pain as I sorted myself out.

My hands shook as I stood, not bothering to straighten my robes as I tossed my staff aside. A trail of blood slid down the side of my face – the ground had been a harder hit than I anticipated, and the world tilted as I walked.

Nobody on the outside had noticed the barrier yet; a few townspeople that hadn't attended the event went about their business, not even glancing my way.

I almost called for Fenris, but found my voice couldn't make a sound – I coughed, trying to push sound from my throat, wheezing his name with all of my remaining might. I began a stumbling run around the outside edge of the stadium.

_Did he get out in time?_

_Did I wait long enough?_

"_Fenris! Fenris!_" I tried to scream, my words pathetic and screechy without real sound. I panted, my throat feeling as if I had swallowed shards of glass, my heart dropping as I frantically searched for Fenris, my bones shaking and weary from all the strength and mana I had poured into my trump spell.

Hands caught my arms in warm steel. "I'm here," Fenris said out of breath as spun me around. His head still seemed to be bleeding beneath his helmet, and he looked so deathly pale - a drastic color for his usually sunny skin. "Let's move."

People were shouting; I would hardly believe that my frantic wheezes had even been heard above the din of confused, angry people locked inside the arena. I grabbed his hand, winding my fingers tightly through his bare fingers, hoping that he could hold on until we were safely out of the city; his other arm hung uselessly at his side, and I worried for the state of it.

_We need a healer_. I heard the cries of the people locked in the stadium, bearing sharply into a crescendo in my ears. _But no chance of that for the moment._

_If only Pana could have come._ But there was no time for that kind of regretful thinking; we had to move.

I headed to the portion of the wall where the lone horses were tied; I stealthily pulled Fenris around the lot.

_Shit. I didn't plan for us both to be utterly trashed like this._ My thoughts were murky as most of my concentration fed into the stadium. _We need to be gone _now.

The servants who had driven the carts and led the horses were too busy sleeping or chatting to notice us as we ducked in the shadows, limping our way across the area.

I untied a horse and tried to kick myself up – it took a few tries, my limbs were so weak, but I eventually winded up in the saddle. Fenris managed to jump behind me on his first try, though his teeth were clamped together tightly and his face seemed to grow paler.

A few servants had realized that something was wrong; they pounded hard on the giant wooden doors of the entrance to the coliseum, growing curious as to the lack of sound from within.

I squeezed Fenris' hand as his arms winded around me, taking the reins. The horse shifted and whinnied restlessly below us as an alarming boom echoed through the building. I turned my head quickly, my body bowing to the side so I could face Fenris. I kissed him quickly, tasting salt and sweat and blood and lips, and felt infinitely better than I had a few moments ago.

"Let's hurry." Worry laced my voice as I turned and Fenris pushed the horse forward, kicking it immediately into a gallop. Fenris' chest blazed me through the back of my robes; I wiped sweat from my brow and nudged the horse faster, glancing at the sky to check which direction we were headed.

_East_. It would have to do. We chased the approaching darkness with steady swiftness, leaving Minrathous in the dust trailing behind us.

I grinned into the sky with a thrumming heart, panting with exhaustion and exertion as we finally made our long awaited escape. A _real_ escape, with the wind at our backs and freedom on the horizon.

After about ten minutes of riding, the energy in me sapped out completely; I felt myself fall limply against Fenris' chest moments before I lost consciousness, finally feeling the snap of my control on the coliseum break as I succumbed to the blackness of rest, Fenris' fully functional arm wrapping around me tightly, protectively, holding me against him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Did you really think these two would make it this far<strong>_**?**

**I'm in a rush, sorry if some things seem weird - ff changes shit when I'm not looking and I don't always catch what it screws with!**


	26. 22 Cautious Optimism

**Just when I begin to wonder how anyone could bear to read this story, you guys do something wonderful like put me over 200 reviews. Special thanks to**** all of those who have alerted/faved, and an especially scrumptious thanks Shanae1981 and DanieRF for being insanely dedicated to reviewing the chapters on this story.**

**Seriously. All of you guys are hardcore.**

**Race you to the bottom!**

* * *

><p><em>"Past the point of no return, no backward glances;<em>  
><em>the games we've played 'til now are at an end.<em>  
><em>Past all thought of 'if', or 'when', no use resisting;<em>  
><em>abandon thought and let the dream descend."<em>

-"_Point of no Return_", the Phantom of the Opera

* * *

><p><strong>22. Cautious Optimism<strong>

I woke up with my face pressed into a sweaty neck; I blinked blearily awake, gasping at the pain pounding away in my skull and the weakness in my body.

The world rocked, and I realized I was on a slowly-walking horse; I stretched out my limbs and phalanges, accounting for everything, and addressed whoever I was leaning on.

"Fenris," I croaked, grabbing a forearm stretched taut around my waist.

"You're awake," Fenris said, voice thick with exhaustion and relief.

Night had fallen, and with the darkness came a chill that made me fight the urge to rub my arms. I turned to him and I whispered his name hoarsely again and his eyes met mine, unfocused.

_Crap._ The moon was high in the sky – I panicked when I thought of how long I could have been unconscious, thought of how close one of us could have been to falling off the horse and being discovered – and if Fenris had a concussion -

_Stop panicking,_ I told myself firmly. _We're safe, for now._ I spied lanterns in the distance ahead of us and patted the horse, knowing it had to be just as tired as I felt – if not more.

We entered the village well past nightfall; I slowed our pace even further, giving the horse a much needed break as we trod through the cobblestone streets of a new town. My hands were wrapped firmly in leather, my knuckles white and stiff from holding onto the ropes with a death grip in my sleep. I shook them free, hearing the joints pop and protest with the movement.

_Thank the Maker for Fenris. _It felt like a miracle that we weren't on the ground somewhere miles behind us. _Irresponsible_, I cursed myself. _How hard would it have been to just stay awake?_

There were the spotty beginnings of forests – more trees than I had seen since I traveled back in time to Tevinter, which wasn't saying much. I judged that we still hadn't gotten far enough from Minrathous; I wasn't about to let my guard down just yet, but Fenris was hunched worrisomely over my back, drooping further the longer we road.

_I need to make a decision – do we stop here and rest, or do we err to the side of caution and ride until we _do _drop?_

"Fenris?" I asked, voice cracking from dust. "How do you feel?"

"Alive," he answered, his own voice a grunted croak. "Barely." I winced.

"We can't stop yet," I said, biting my lip, feeling tense. We weren't out of the water yet, but Fenris needed medical attention.

"Then let us move on," Fenris said, his forehead pressing into the crook where my shoulder met my neck.

"No," I said, conflicted. "You need help."

_A bleeding elf and the human girl riding an Imperial decked horse through their village _will_ cause alarm._ _We need to get off the streets._ Hooves met cobblestone and I made my decision.

I sighed, tapping one of Fenris's hands that still gripped the reins. "Let's give this old horse a rest."

I wished that I had Anders nearby; he would be invaluable to me now: the smooth talking, friendly healer. _We need an apothecary._

_I bet he could talk someone into giving us a warm meal and heal Fenris at the same time,_ I thought with a grimace. _As it stands, it looks like we'll have to go hungry tonight._

It wasn't an outlandish idea; there had been other nights where we had both gone to sleep with empty stomachs. _We will survive this, injured and hungry or not._

Fenris reluctantly released his hold on me and I dropped from the horse, feeling gritty and grimy from the long afternoon of riding in the blazing heat of Tevinter. Fenris followed my lead slowly, and I halted him when I got a better look at his face.

He looked deathly pale beneath the helmet, the trail of blood from his head - however coagulated and crusted over - a stark, sickly addition to his face.

"Stay up there," I said, touching his leg. "I'll find some quiet place to spend the night."

"I can walk," he said shortly, unsurprisingly, voice rough and low.

"I know," I said patiently, looking up at his profile in the moonlight. The strong, narrow features of his face, the alluring muscles of his back – even beneath a heap of armor and hunched over in pain, he was gorgeous. "But you're injured, and I don't want you to be in any unnecessary pain."

Fenris grunted unhappily, but didn't fight me after that; he returned to his normal, prickly self, glaring at the road ahead – probably pissed at his own weakness.

_This won't do._ I wouldn't have him thinking he was anything short of brave and terrifying – not after that spectacular performance in the arena earlier.

"You were amazing, by the way," I whispered with a coarse voice. "You're the best fighter I've ever seen."

_Except for yourself, I guess._

"But I've never been more scared in my life," I went on, giving into the cold of the night and rubbing the goose bumps from my arms.

"Scared?" he inquired, head turning slightly to gaze down at the top of my head – the metal of his helmet scraped against the metal of his chest piece.

"I nearly jumped into the pit myself," I said with a tired, fake chuckle. I rubbed at a crusty eye, feeling weary and sore in my bones. "Watching you fight and not being able to join you – it was a lot harder than I anticipated."

"I can imagine," was all he said in reply. I was reluctant to let the conversation die, for him to marginally lose some semblance of alertness that he had and slip into slumber – I was no doctor and didn't quite understand why he shouldn't fall asleep, but I definitely understood why it would be detrimental to fall asleep on a moving horse – without someone holding onto him, that is.

But I could hardly raise my feet high enough from the ground to take a full step – and I was growing more sluggish by the second. I didn't like being on the streets; there were too many windows and buildings and I had enough imagination to picture all the people staring at us, too many unfriendly faces in darkened doorways.

We could not stay long. I pulled the horse away from the shops of the village and to the more urban outskirts, where the distant farmers tried - in vain, it seemed - to pull fruit from the land.

A good hundred meters from the closest house, we settled in darkness behind a dry-rotting barn; I tied the horse and helped Fenris down, growing more troubled by every shallow breath he expended. But there was hay for the poor horse to eat and a water trough for it to drink from behind the old, empty barn.

I led him to the side of the barn, away from the eating, tired horse, and he slid down beside the wall with a careful sigh. My hands reached for his helmet and he gritted his teeth when I slowly pulled it from his head, revealing the sticky wet hair stuck to his face and the source of all the troubling blood.

I touched his head delicately, pushing hair away from the wound to get a closer look. I conjured a tiny, muted ball of light that hovered around his head – but even this wisp of magic served to exhaust me further, costing me much more effort to conjure than it would have on a normal occasion.

He tensed at the casual use of magic, and groaned when I prodded around the wound.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" I asked idly, casting as much healing magic as I could; I didn't have much stamina left in me, not after the barrier trick and riding so hard all afternoon – not that I was very talented at healing to begin with.

"You aren't holding up any," Fenris muttered. I felt the heat coming from his head in waves and I wiped the sticky sweat from his brow.

"Any other injuries that you're hiding?" I asked, trying to sew up the wound on his head and growing short of breath with the magical exertion. I concentrated hard - healing magic didn't come naturally to me, so it was much more difficult to accomplish, and I had _such_ little mana to use. I muttered and dropped the ball of light and my hands, feeling worn.

_I can't help him at all if I pass out._ But he wasn't bleeding so much anymore.

"Bruises," he said, leaning his head back against the barn when I released it. "And my arm."

I kneeled beside him, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The moon was growing high in the night sky, and the stars twinkled bright; after a minute of sitting in darkness, I began to see his features clearly.

I touched his shoulder, running my hand from his shoulder to his chest to his arm, growing alarmed when he gave no discernible reaction to the touch.

_There is an open stab wound to his shoulder and he still doesn't feel his arm._ Panic swelled in me again.

"I need to find a healer," I murmured, fidgeting. "Or a potion. _Something._"

_I didn't get out of that hellhole just for him to die here._

My legs suddenly gave out and I fell down hard at Fenris' side; my hands flew out and my palms scraped against the ground as I panted, holding myself still, trying to fight the terror with all of my strength.

"Fenris," I asked, voice begging. I inhaled wetly through my nose and a wet line of tears slid down my nose. "Please tell me something."

He readjusted his position up against the barn. "What would you like for me to say?" His words weren't slurred, his voice carefully measured and pronounced – he could sense my panic.

"Anything." _Anything. Something. Something to get me moving again, to carry off this panic._

After a moment, he replied: "We're alive."

"We're alive," I repeated the affirmation in a whisper, my arms shaking with the effort of holding myself up. An arm encircled my chest, and Fenris pulled me up and into his lap, sighing against my temple. Tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes and I laughed weakly, pressing my mouth against his shoulder as I cried. "We're _alive_, we're _here._"

"We're together," he added quietly, pressing his cheek to my forehead.

_Thank the Maker__._

I leaned up, feeling the hot tears course down my face, and kissed him hard; I pressed so close to him, the thrill and sheer _relief_ of being alive taking me over until I couldn't breathe and I _burned_ to be near him, to touch him -

He coughed into my mouth and I pulled away, panting, my hands tangled in his hair as I cradled his head into my neck.

I rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his body droop against mine as he finally gave up consciousness. I sighed and cursed, leaning down to kiss his sweaty temple. I pulled back after a few moments and glanced at his face, watching it for movement – he was deathly still, his eyes closed as he slowly recovered from the long day.

_He needs help_, I reminded myself, feeling weak, but a lot better than I had a few minutes before. I needed to see his green eyes, hear his voice, feel his movement – but I couldn't give into my weakness. _He needs me now._

I crawled off his lap and stumbled to my feet, feeling faint. _Food, food, I can do food – there has to be something here, it's a Makerdamned _farm.

The closest building to the barn was a dark house nearby; I could see no candles or lanterns lit within, but that didn't mean there was no one inside. I made sure that Fenris was out of sight and in the shadows, and inched away – stumbled away – from our hiding spot.

I carefully worked my way around to a field that was approximately fifty feet from where the barn sat; I found a sad amount of crops, but nothing that could reasonably be eaten without building a fire. _Shit._

I peered at the house and decided to take my chances with getting closer to it. _Nobody is going to see me out here,_ I rationalized, glancing up at the half-hearted light of the moon as I walked closer to the dark building.

I saw a few animals out in the distance, but I stayed far enough away from them that I didn't worry too much about their presence – by the time I reached the side of the building, I had gathered enough bravery to look inside.

_Tevinterians – Imperials? The people who live in this land don't grow gardens of crops,_ I thought to myself. _At least, not in this dry area of the country._ The back door was locked, but with a swipe of my hand it clicked and swung open.

_So what do they grow?_ I mused to myself, inching slowly into the dark house. _If not cucumbers, tomatoes and spuds, what do they live off of?_

I reached the kitchen, my pace still a slow crawl. I was careful to not touch anything – I watched every step as my eyes adjusted to the darkness; if I was caught -

_Bingo._ I found the breadbox. _Grain is their crop of choice._

The farmers had tons of bread – I stuffed my pockets full, but only what we needed for now, maybe a few bites extra for when we had to set out again before sunrise. I shoved everything into the pockets of my robes, getting crumbs everywhere, but I didn't care – I shoved a loaf into my mouth and bit down, grimacing at the hard texture but chewing and swallowing anyway.

_I need the energy to try and heal him further,_ I told myself, grinning and bearing it as I took another bite. Once my pockets were full of bread, I glanced around for anything else.

_Surely they import,_ I thought, almost feeling bad for taking their food as I closed the rather large breadbox. Almost.

_This is a matter of life and death. They could kill an animal and live off of it for weeks,_ I rationalized.

I spotted smooth red from across the room, the moonlight arcing gracefully over the skin of the fruit. I snatched the fruits up quickly, only two or three, and departed as fast as I could without stomping my feet.

I carried the fruits of my labor back to Fenris, still chewing on the loaf of bread. I set down all of the fruit that I had gathered – some apples and brown pears, joined quickly by a few crusts of bread that I pulled from my pockets.

I pursed my lips, unimpressed with my bounty now that it was laid before me. _It's better than nothing._

Sitting down and cracking open an apple with a small knife from my boot that I had pocketed during the mandatory training that Danarius made me undergo - weeks ago, months ago? - I reached over and shook Fenris' unharmed shoulder, speaking his name roughly. He roused slightly, his eyelids rising, and I raised a piece of the fruit to his lips and slipped it into his mouth.

I fed him slowly like this, bite by bite, until the moon sank and the stars disappeared. I was only able to feed him half of the apple and a fourth of a loaf before he began to wave me off; so between the time it took for the stars to disappear and the sun to slowly rise, I finished off my bread and the rest of the apple while he slipped back into slumber. When the sun peaked over the horizon, I was feeling marginally more capable; I finished the magically taxing work of healing the gash in his head, but couldn't do anything for the nerves in his arm – I stopped the bleeding, and that would be enough for now until we could find a proper healer.

I bit my lip and woke him again, smiling at his focused green eyes as they snapped to attention on mine.

"Let's keep going," I said gently, tugging on his good arm to help him up. "Do you feel any better?"

He grunted, and I gathered up the rest of the fruit; I felt heavy bags weigh down the undersides of my eyes, but still paid close attention to Fenris as he hoisted himself onto the stolen horse.

_There was only a slight hesitation before he leapt up,_ I thought critically, glancing at his body language for signs of prolonged fatigue. _But Fenris is tough and proud; that slight hesitation could suggest that he's in a lot of pain._

After another thought, I picked up the discarded and bloody helm, holding it in a spare hand as I lifted myself to sit in front of Fenris, my hip guided by his palm.

I checked the rising sun and immediately set our course southward, riding towards freedom.

_They must already be searching for us_, I thought, bouncing on the horse. _We need to put as much distance between us as we can; word travels fast._

We stayed off the main roads and didn't pause until the sun was towering overhead in the sky, sending sweat down my sides. I grasped Fenris' hand in mine reassuringly, and he grasped it back.

_We'll be fine._

The ground rolled beneath us, morphing from toughened sand to moist soil within the next few hours of riding; grass grew common and the hot, dry sand dwindled.

The air smelled refreshing and lovely; I inhaled deeply, enjoying the sparse shade as we traveled along, spotting beginnings of forests and actual wildlife.

I grabbed Fenris' hand in mine, pulling it around me and interlocking our fingers. He gripped my hand, and I smiled.

_We can make it._

**-CO****-**

We made it to the outskirts of a village around noon, where we trotted along a steadily growing stream; I glanced down at the helmet still clutched in my hand, and after a second of thought I cast the bloodied hunk of metal into the water, watching it sink.

"If I know anything about Danarius," I muttered, slowing the horse and watching the town with a measured gaze, "then he's had people searching for us all night." I glanced back at Fenris. "Do you think his soldiers have made it this far yet?"

"One way to find out," he murmured into my hair. I sighed and hopped from the horse.

"You stay here," I instructed, handing him the reins. "If I'm not back in an hour, move further into the woods and find a place to hide." I glared up at him, daring him to protest. "I'm the uninjured one," I added, "I'll do the risky things, for now."

Fenris said nothing in return, but took the reins from me. I felt his eyes on my back as I walked towards the small town with a heavy heart.

_He'll still be there when you get back,_ I reassured myself. _We won't be caught – not this soon. They don't know where to search, we could have gone in any direction – the sand blown by the wind would have covered our tracks well enough._

The town was bustling with activity at this time of the day; I straightened my back and pretended I didn't look ratty and covered in mud.

After a few questions, I was pointed towards the local apothecary – which was a small shop at the very end of the town. I battled my way against the crowd, slipping between caravans and cattle as lithely as I could on my tired feet until I was at the doorstep.

There was a squat man grinding herbs at a counter; I approached him warily.

"You got coin?" he asked, raising his eyes briefly.

"No, but I-"

"Then get out."

My mouth hung open. "Ser, please, my friend is seriously injured and is in need of a potion-"

"A potion," he said, "that you can't pay for. Out." He pointed at the door.

"Is there anything I could trade for a potion?" I tried to bargain.

"Coin," he said shrewdly, setting down his pot and standing.

"I can use magic," I said, a spark of lightning forming in my palm and dissipating. "There has to be something you can do with me."

He glanced at me again, sizing me up. "You can hold your own in a fight?"

"Yes," I said immediately, rolling my shoulders and hearing a few creaks and pops. _On a good day. Normally. Well, some of the time._

"Well," he said, walking closer. "Why didn't you just say so?" He sighed and reached under the counter, pulling out a box of dusty glass bottles – all bottled with the life giving red potion that I hoped could fix Fenris' shoulder. "I'll trade you one of these for a favor."

"What's the favor?" I asked wearily. _Everybody wants something_, I reminded myself.

"There's this kid that's been causing me trouble – stole some coin about a week back. Go teach him a lesson and I'll give you a bottle – teach him a lesson and get me my coin, and I'll give you two."

"It's a deal," I said, shaking the man's hand. "Give me a description of the kid and I'll be back in twenty minutes."

The man laughed. "You're cocky; I like that."

I smiled wearily at him. "I'm well aware of what I can accomplish, that's all."

**-CO****-**

Fifteen minutes later, my pockets were fifty silver pieces heavier and my knuckles were bruised. I panted a little, but wasn't any worse for wear.

_Whatever it takes,_ I told myself, thinking of the brat who thought he could take me on just because I was female. I got enough coin to refund the shop keep, and a decent enough story about how the young man ran off with a bloodied nose a new outlook on life to entertain the chemist.

For my efforts I got two medium sized health potions and even one lesser lyrium potion; triumphant, I headed back to the place where I left Fenris.

I walked up and down the stream, searching for the horse – or even horse tracks – but found none. Heart pounding, I began to run, calling out his name and trying not to slip back into that panic that had previously paralyzed me.

_Maybe this is just the wrong place_, I rationalized. _Maybe it's my fault, maybe I didn't go back far enough._

_Or Danarius found him already and whisked him away from me – we can't ever be happy, it has to be something, oh Maker, what if it was bandits-?_

"Marian," I heard to my left. I whirled around and felt my heart stop for a moment before picking up speed. I sighed, holding a hand to my chest in relief.

"Don't scare me like that," I chastised, walking closer to the horse. "I thought…I almost…"

Fenris swung his leg over the side of the horse and slid down, stepping towards me and catching me in his good arm for an embrace. "I'm here," he soothed, rubbing a hand down my back and pressing his cheek against my temple.

I sighed against his collarbone. "I'm sorry, I can't help but feel like this has gone too smoothly," I confessed. "I seems like Danarius is going to swoop in at any moment and yank the rug out from under us."

"We're not standing on a rug," Fenris disagreed. I grunted a laugh.

"That's not what I meant." I pulled out a bottle of red liquid from my pocket, smiling up at Fenris. "I managed well today."

**-CO****-**

Fenris claimed to have feeling in his fingers a few minutes after drinking the syrupy potion; I ran my fingers down his arm, asking him what he could feel – he abashedly said he hardly felt anything, but "hardly feeling" wasn't "no feeling", so I felt cautiously optimistic.

I still made him drink the last one; he needed it, and I sipped at my lesser potion to rejuvenate me a little – enough to get me through the day.

"We're going to pass a few cities," I said as we slowly walked down the river, leading the horse easily beside us. "Eventually we'll make it to the sea, where we'll board a ship that will carry us to Kirkwall." I smiled up at Fenris at my side, taking his hand in mine. "It will be a long journey."

He had a full range of movement in his arm, now, and could hold my hand tightly. "You need to rest," he said, noting the sinking sun in the sky. I shook my head, rubbing my thumb over his hand.

"I'll be fine until we reach a good resting point," I said. "We can make camp – I want to trade the horse, but I also don't want the sale to be tracked. If someone finds the horse nearby, Danarius will be that much closer to finding us."

_That's also assuming the horse is instantly recognizable._

I glanced over at the horse, noting its brown color and lack of distinctive markings. _It just looks like a horse to me, but I'm not a horse aficionado. _

I looked up at Fenris again, noting that he didn't look as pale. "We could find work," I thought aloud. "You'd be surprised at how many people would pay you under the table to do their dirty work." I glanced down at his battered and bloody armor, my nose crinkling. "And you could use some new clothes."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "It only needs to be washed," he said, looking down at himself. "Soon."

"We'll get you some new clothes before then," I promised, still giving the grimy armor the stink eye. "In the next town, we'll earn some coin. But we won't stay at an inn," I said, staring out in the woods at our sides. "Wild animals, bandits or no; I'm not going to be caught unawares by Danarius in my underclothes at some fancy bathhouse. I'd prefer being caught by a wild animal in the wilderness."

Fenris snorted. "A decent policy." He had discarded his boots hours ago; his bare foot kicked a fallen branch out of our path. "We can handle anything the woods can throw at us."

"My thoughts exactly," I said, staring up at the blue sky. I felt a goofy smile form on my face.

_Walking through a forest, my hand in his, no chains._

I laughed, feeling a lightness I hadn't felt in so long. I felt Fenris' concerned eyes on me, obviously wondering if I was mentally sound – I just laughed harder, pulling myself to him and rising to my toes to kiss him, hugging him to me tightly.

When I pulled away, he still looked at me as if I were barking mad – I laughed again, poking him in the side.

"I can't believe we're actually here," I explained, a little breathless. "I was scared shitless yesterday and – and here we are, just walking along the stream and talking about where we're going to lay our heads tonight. I didn't see you for months and here you are, holding my hand like nothing happened."

He paused, halting his steps. His hand in mine jerked me back and directly into his arms, where he lifted my chin to kiss my lips again.

I understood, in that kiss, what he couldn't – or wouldn't – quite say in words. His mouth molded against mine, opening and pulling me into him, drowning me in the feeling of being _alive_ and _here_ and _with him_.

I pulled away, breathless, and he continued to walk as if nothing at all had occurred.

_Ass._

I grinned and laughed, skipping to catch up to him and taking his hand in mine again.

_This is everything I've wanted for so long._

Pulling him back to me, I pressed my lips into his again, unwilling to let him escape so easily. I sighed into the kiss; we were a mile from the nearest road, technically within the forest and not quite visible from the outside. There was a stream beside us; after a moment of thought, I started unbuckling and unsnapping my robes, kicking off my boots during the process.

"Bathe with me?" I murmured when our lips broke apart.

* * *

><p><strong>(Wow, that cliffhanger, though. Now I feel awful; I had no idea that it would be there when I started writing! IAnd in retrospect, Marian probably should have gotten Fenris an injury kit instead of a health potion - but, ehhh. Too much work to correct it. Stupid, lazy me.)<strong>

**I've been meaning to insert this somewhere for a while, and there's no time like the present, I guess.**

**About future Fenris and Marian's relationship: it has all occurred before the quest "A Bitter Pill". She went back in time during the second act, sometime after her mom died. I deviated from canon a little by inserting a love scene where there shouldn't have been one – a night where Marian got drunk, egged on Fenris, they had sex, then Fenris, of course, freaked out and left afterwards. **

**This was NOT the glowy-up-against-the-wall scene that we all know and love. **

**In short: they had sex, but it wasn't when they would have normally in the game – and I will apologize, actually, because I only inserted that scene to make some of the earlier chapters more interesting and fun to write. It really serves no purpose at the moment, and I'm working to find a way to tie it in later that could justify having it (which, I have found, is the hardest part of writing a long story! Tying everything together!). Perhaps whenever I decide to come back and edit this story, I'll take it out or substitute it, but for right now I can't really change it so I just have to live and work with it.**

**Anyway, I've included this note here because I don't want people to be confused later about what happened. I'm not sure if I explained it as well as I could have in the story, and I apologize AGAIN for being such a shitty writer/person! **

**If you still have any questions or comments, theories or scathing remarks, feel free to PM me!**

**No question down here this time, I'm afraid, because of the ridiculous A/N – just have a groovy week!**


	27. 23 Hope

**Happy second birthday ****to Anachronism! It certainly doesn't feel like two years since I first threw a tentative prologue into the fandom, wondering if my idea would make it past conception and into full realization and just how it would be received. I give a huge, slobbery kiss to everyone who has been hanging around since the September 20****th**** of two years ago :D**

**Two years after that prologue, and I'm twenty-three chapters - approximately 150k words - in; back then I only had a vague idea of how long the story would be, and I had no idea if I would even make it this far. Without all of my reviewers, though, I definitely wouldn't have made it past chapter ten. I would have talked myself out of finishing and grown disheartened, not trusting my ability to tell a story.**

**We're still pretty far from the finish line, but I'm getting all sentimental and huggy so LET'S MOVE ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER BEFORE I DO SOMETHING STUPID LIKE COMBUST OR GIVE EVERYONE A BOOBIE SMASHING HUG**

**ahem**

**Anyways, thank you all for sticking around****.**** As a long overdue reward – uh, have a lemon. Or two. Or, you know, barely enough actual plot to justify calling this a chapter. TO THE CHAPTER~**

**NSFW****: This is the only warning you get: chapter contains lemons. Lemawnz. Citrus. POOORN. PERN! It's only named "Hope" because I couldn't just call it "The One With Lemons".**

**READ WISELY**

* * *

><p><em>"Touch me, I'm cold; unable to control.<em>  
><em>Touch me, I'm golden, and wild as the wind blo<em>_ws._  
><em>I'm tumbling, tumbling<em>  
><em>Don't go, fascination.<em>  
><em>If just for tonight, darling,<em>  
><em>Let's get lost."<em>

"Let's Get Lost" Beck and Bat for Lashes

* * *

><p><strong>23. Hope<strong>

My teeth chattered and my entire body convulsed into shivers; I glared at the freezing river for shattering my romantic dreams.

"I-I-I d-d-didn't th-th-think-" I began, but couldn't continue when my mouth clenched shut. It was all I could do to light a small fire, hopping naked – but clean – from foot to foot as I waited for Fenris to finish _whatever _he was doing.

I had tried to give into romance – but romance, as always, didn't have enough time for me.

_Can't I have a break?_ I cried silently to the sky. The fire crackled merrily before me, but I couldn't quite feel the warmth yet, so bunched were my muscles. _Makerdamn cold water._

Fenris approached, a saddle blanket in his hands. I sighed in relief – and my mouth fell open when he laid it out on the ground before the fire.

_No! Blanket is for warmth!_ I protested silently. Fenris then calmly sat, in all of his bare naked glory, in the center of the blanket.

_Cool as a fucking cucumber._

"S-s-s-sorry a-about-" I tried, but Fenris gestured for me to silence myself and take a seat beside him with his good arm; his skin appeared to still be ripped in places, and bruises covered nearly inch of him – but he had a wider range of motion with his injured arm since I had given him the potions, for which I was grateful.

I fell onto the blanket and forced myself firmly against his side, trembling and clenched. Fenris seemed no better – his skin was pebbled and chilled.

_He's just better at hiding it._ I held my toes close to the fire and sighed when the heat blazed over my foot, feeling as if it were scalding them, they were so frozen – I snuggled closer to Fenris and he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close.

"A-a-at least w-w-we're clean," I bit out, trying to find the bright side. I didn't know how much time we had until someone eventually wandered into the forest, but I didn't think I could move right then.

_At least my hair doesn't stink anymore. Well, it doesn't stink as _much.

I wanted to lie down and sleep – but most of all, to cuddle for warmth with Fenris.

Fenris' thinking seemed to be in sync with my own; he grabbed my shoulder and pressed me down onto the blanket before lying down at my back, turning my front towards the fire. I sighed as a growing warmth surrounded me between the added body heat and the flames.

"Fenris," I sighed, turning my head to press my freezing nose into his neck. "You're a Makersend."

_Seriously – the water? Did I really think that thirty degree water would be sexy?_

I almost snorted at myself.

His armor still needed to be wiped clean and polished – but my robes were washed and hanging to dry and his underclothes – that is to say, his dark jerkin and tights that he had worn beneath his shiny armor – were hanging alongside my clothes. The horse had been tacked down and was tied to a tree a few yards away, and the stream bubbled happily behind us.

_Stupid fucking cold stream._ The jittery feeling of being nearly frozen came back to me and I pressed closer to Fenris' torso.

"I have the worst ideas," I muttered to nobody in particular.

"Not the worst," Fenris said in a low voice, the vibrations of his baritone tickling my neck. "Your ideas are better than mine."

A side of my mouth tilted upwards. "I suppose they are," I said, turning to glare playfully at him. "I, after all, didn't nearly get myself killed trying to-"

"You've nearly gotten yourself killed plenty of times," Fenris pointed out sternly, arms pulling me tightly against him. I felt the muscles in his chest ripple against my back and nearly swooned. _Maker, it certainly has been too long._

"That line of thought is hardly fair."

"W-what?" I asked, dazed. _We're both naked._

"I said that it isn't fair to point fingers. We both bear similar guilt."

"I suppose," I said, not really understanding what I was replying to. _Fenris. Is. Naked._

"You suppose," he said in disbelief. "I've saved your life plenty of times – and now you've saved mine."

_I don't think I've ever seen him completely naked,_ I thought dreamily. _Well, not stared at him while naked, I suppose._ I wondered if he would be offended if I flipped over to stare at him.

_What was he saying? Something about saving his life? I'm pretty certain that I've done that._

"You're a hard person to take care of," I mumbled, fighting the urge to turn him over and straddle him. _We're both exhausted and on the run – this isn't the time. We're just trying to get warm._

_But you wanted this, didn't you? What was it you said – "bathe with me"?_

"I can take care of myself," Fenris said, tucking his cold fingers under my hip and making me jump. I settled down and rubbed my hands over his arms, trying my best to warm him.

"I know," I said with a sigh. "You can." _But you shouldn't have to._ I finally gave in and turned around in his arms, melting against his chest as his arm wound around my back.

We were quiet as the fire crackled on and the sun fell slowly from the sky; my hand skimmed over his back, lightly tracing over the corded muscle.

"Was I very different in the future?"

I smiled against his neck at the question. "Not really," I said, pondering. "You're just as mean and grouchy now as you were then."

"You're hilarious," he said, voice thick with sarcasm. I laughed into his throat when he pinched my bottom, leaving a sting and making me wiggle.

"I know," I replied – I was more than a little skeptical about why he was asking. "Why? Are you worried that I'm in love with another man?"

"No," he said shortly, his hand – now blessedly warm – coasting up my side, his thumb rubbing small circles in my skin. "I'm more concerned that by running away, we've changed the man who I was fated to become."

I pulled back to look into his eyes, noting the distant facet of worry in them.

_You're perfect as you are, Fenris. _"I may not be an expert on time travel, but..." I trailed off, wondering how to phrase my thoughts. "The essence of who you are doesn't change – just your perspective on your surroundings. The Fenris I knew in the future was harsh and jaded, and would completely cut himself off from the world if he could." _If I would have let him._

"Am I not harsh and jaded?" he asked, green eyes gaining a twinkle of mirth.

"Not exactly," I said with a smile. "You're guarded, but you're warm." _Physically and figuratively._ I snuggled closer to him to make my point; his arms came up to my back to hold me closer. "I don't actually think there is much of a difference between you and the man I knew, other than how much he – he just _hurt._"

It made my heart sore to think of how much pain Fenris would be experiencing right now if I hadn't stolen him away – so much pain that it would change his outlook on life. _The Fenris of the future never let me this close – would never have in a million years._

"Will you tell me what Danarius would have done to me?" Fenris questioned suddenly. "What would have forced me to change?"

I shivered, but not from the chill. Fenris, regardless, held me even closer to his body. "He would have cut lines into your skin," I said, bringing my finger up to trace a swirling, Dalish-inspired line on his chest. "A horrifying process that could cause you to bleed out if he wasn't careful with his instrument. And after he cut you open, he would then fill the gashes drawn into your flesh with pure lyrium."

"Lyrium? Would that not kill me?"

"Maybe," I said. "If you were anyone other than you. It could kill a person, or drive them mad – you would have lost all of your memories, but I haven't quite determined how that happens yet." He waited patiently for me to find the words to continue. _The potion, and Kornyn – or the lyrium itself?_ After witnessing how the woman's body was ravaged by the lyrium, I could understand how it could rip apart a person mentally as well as physically. _Experiencing that much pain and surviving – I couldn't imagine…_

"I think once he made you into his ultimate guard, he knew that I would slowly lose my entertainment value. I – I found this potion," I confided. "Or, at least, a recipe for a potion. I think he tried it on Kornyn, but – in theory, it would be possible for it to take a person's memory away. He must have been working on it for a while, because he used it on Kornyn - and who knows who else.

"I once believed that this would be how he stripped your memories from you, but what if – what if he wanted to use it to take _my_ memories away?"

It felt silly, thinking that he would plan that long just for me - it would be an extreme coincidence, but Danarius _did_ have access to the potion.

A chill ran down my back at the thought of forgetting everything _– Carver, Pop, Fenris, Lothering – my mistakes and triumphs, my skills -_

_If the lyrium is what takes Fenris' memories, maybe Danarius doesn't know that it will happen._

_Did Danarius intend to break Fenris by using me _on top_ of the branding process?_ Horror splintered in my lungs for a second before I reined in my reaction to the thought. _He would barely survive the lyrium, but when he did – if he still had his memories – Danarius would take mine away and parade me around Fenris as a doll Marian, a Taris for the rest of my life__..._

I shuddered again. _Emotional and physical torture._

_That rat bastard._

_But if the lyrium does cause Fenris' memories to wither, Danarius would have no reason to tamper with mine – other than idle amusement, but I'm not sure if that's how he operates._

_Either way, I can't go anywhere without Fenris. I would never leave him there – whether he has his memories or not._

"Forgetting you…" he murmured into my hair. "It seems impossible." After a few moments of contemplative silence, he carried on his previous train of thought. "Besides theoretically stripping my memories, what would this lyrium to do me?"

"It would turn you into the ultimate warrior," I said, thinking of the whirling, translucent blue form on the battlefield, slinging an impossibly large blade with ferocity and precision. "I don't exactly understand it, and neither did you, in the future - but I believe it has something to do with access to the Fade. But all of the other people that I've heard of who endured the process – or the person I've even witnessed experience the ritual and be cut open like that – they all died. You're the only one who is strong enough to survive it."

"Why?" he asked simply. I sighed at the hard question.

"I don't know," I replied quietly. "You're the strongest, most resilient person whom I have ever met – who else but you could live through that?" It seemed like common sense – _birds fly, fish swim, Darkspawn kill, and Fenris doggedly survives to glare through another day._

"Even if I were branded – wouldn't I be fated to meet you in the future?" He seemed to be trying to accept that future – if we were caught, if Danarius got his hands on us – there was no choice but the markings.

I couldn't accept that future. "Yes, but Fenris – you wouldn't know me," I said sadly, laying my temple against his collarbone. "You would automatically distrust me. We would never be as we are now." _And besides – I don't even know if it's possible for me to get _back. _If Fenris loses his memories, there will be nothing for me but to endure._

"I don't have to know you, but I can't imagine there will ever be a time in which I don't love you."

"Oh, Maker, Fenris, why do you have to say something like that?" I tried to laugh off the needlessly romantic remark, but I couldn't – _damn it, Fenris, how can you just say that?_ _You silver-tongued bastard._ I leaned my head up for a kiss.

Fenris saw through what I wasn't saying, however. When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a moment. "You're worried you won't live to see the future."

I had to glance away. "Not if we get caught. Fenris, my life is at as much stake as yours – and if he takes _my_ memory away – well, I doubt I'll ever return to Kirkwall."

_Stuck in Tevinter forever._

_Maker, I lead the cheeriest life._

"Then we must fight doubly hard to survive." He leaned forward, letting our lips meet softly again.

I forgot everything – that the temperature chilled me, that Danarius hunted us, that we were both naked in the woods – the only thing left in the world was him and I; his warm lips on mine, chilled fingers on my spine, the warming skin sliding beneath my palms.

My back met the scratchy blanket before I realized that I had been flipped; I started, alarmed that I had lost awareness of our surroundings for even a moment.

Fenris broke away, breathing heavily over me. His eyes met mine, an unspoken question lying behind multifaceted green.

"I'm fine," I assured quickly before lunging up to capture his mouth again. I giggled when he growled low in his throat and bit my bottom lip, his arms stretching on either side of my shoulders.

I lifted a bare white leg over his dark hip; when I pulled away for air, I noted how sunny and warm his skin appeared next to mine – I seemed so cold, almost transparent in comparison. Fenris dragged kisses down to my neck and I squirmed when his hot mouth grazed over a particularly sensitive spot.

A brief, unwelcome sense of alarm tingled down my spine.

"Ahm, Fenris?"

Fenris halted his movements and his head rose in order to meet my gaze.

"Are you sure we're ready for this?" I worried, picking at the blanket below us.

Fenris arched a dark eyebrow. "Are you worried?"

_Stop being stupid, Marian, it isn't as if this is your first time._

_It isn't even your first time with Fenris…technically._

"Not exactly, it's just –" _how do I word it?_ "the last time this happened between us, you were gone when I woke up and our relationship never recovered."

"I'm not that person, Marian. Where am I going to go?" he patiently rationalized.

_He's right._ I couldn't place where all of these nerves were coming from – I had never hesitated before when it came to Fenris.

_It's _Fenris_,_ I told myself. _He said it himself: he can't picture a time when he won't love you._

_So you can't worry about the future; not before it comes._

_Because no matter what, you've always loved him, too._

I felt a smile light my face before Fenris' mouth met mine again; I lost myself in the sensation, forgetting time and my worries – if only for an evening.

I shifted far enough back so I could see most of him; I had never gotten the chance to just…look at him. I caressed old scars that I had never noticed before – I wanted to ask him how he had acquired each of them, I wanted him to tell me how he had fought and won.

I mostly wanted to hear his voice – and I told him so as I climbed on top of his hips to stare down at his torso. I grazed my fingers over the different shades of his bruises, unable to feel anything but pride as I stared down at the battle hardened body of the strongest man I had ever met.

"No one has ever touched me as you have," was what he said, humoring my request to hear him speak. I smiled and leaned down to kiss his neck.

"With unkempt lust?" I joked before kissing down his throat.

"Softly," he answered, completely serious. A warm hand pressed into my side, raising goosebumps on my flesh; his long thumb kneaded my hip slowly. "Gently."

I pressed my teeth into his throat sharply, forcing a hiss from him – his hips bucked into mine, pressing a distinctly hard body part into the flesh of my thigh.

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "I take it back – you're the fiercest woman I've ever met."

I _hmph_ed and continued my perusal of his skin with my mouth, laving his collarbone with kisses.

His other arm rose as well, higher than the other, rising up far enough to stroke a breast. "All the others only wish to cause me harm with their touch."

I hovered slightly, my mouth an inch away from his skin. "Have you been harmed often in this manner?"

He snorted. "I doubt anyone could hurt me in _this_ manner," he said cockily before grinding up against me again. He pressed my legs apart so he could grind against the bare flesh of my sex, and we both groaned at the agonizingly teasing contact.

I let the subject go, not really wanting to spoil the mood – but I didn't let the thought slip away.

I gripped his shoulders for stability and he flinched away – I gasped and reared up when I realized that I had grasped onto his wound.

"Fenris!"

Hands immediately gripped my hips and forced me back down against his hardness; a small jolt of pleasure shocked me when a stroke slid between my bottom lips – I rocked over him but wavered, unsure of where to place my hands.

"I'm so-" I began to say, but he cut me off when he flipped me over and stole the words from my mouth with his lips and tongue. One of my hands found its place on his neck; the other wound into his hair, scratching and pulling at his scalp.

He panted heavily when he finally pulled away; his lips glistened from the kiss like two dripping berries, waiting to be devoured. The thought made me lick the flavor from my own, tasting the river and our kiss, appreciating the dichotomy of clean and dirty on my palate.

I eyed his shoulder critically for a moment, figuring that I didn't do much damage – but I hated the thought of hurting him, especially after what he had just said -

Fenris pulled my focus from his wounds when he leaned down to nuzzle and kiss the underside of my jaw; his following exhale sent a shiver down my spine and he chuckled when my body bowed away from him, as I truly had nowhere to escape to. His forehead dropped to touch mine; my hands climbed up his side and onto his back, and his hips pushed forward, sliding him into me.

My breath escaped me when he slid completely within me; the fullness of him inside me almost felt like too much, but he met absolutely no resistance – my body was undeniably completely ready for him to take, my thighs slippery with my spreading arousal. My legs lifted and squeezed onto his hips; a moan slipped past my lips when he moved again, slowly pulling out only to press back in. His head dropped beside mine and I sucked on the edge of his ear, pulling a groan from him in response.

The air heated and our breath mingled between us; I laughed when Fenris hiked my leg higher on his hip, a smirk on his face as he pushed harder, swifter, driving me to peak. My teeth clenched and Fenris bit the highly sensitive skin beneath my ear and I unraveled, my mouth falling open and my thighs trembling.

I cried out his name and ran my fingers down his back, lightly scratching at the tough skin; he shuddered and panted, coming apart above me as I quivered beneath him, growing slightly more languid with each passing moment. I felt his body leave mine, but he didn't go far; he lowered himself beside me, warm and present, and we lay panting together as we watched the tops of the trees.

The sun lowered in the sky as my muscles slowed their trembling, and I turned to watch Fenris lay still at my side, expression serene and breathing even.

_He's still here, _I thought, staring up at his face. I lowered my eyes and watched as my fingers glided over the flesh of his arm.

_He must still be lacking a lot of feeling in this arm,_ I thought, prodding the tan appendage and getting no response. I sighed and returned to slowly rubbing my palm over his skin.

Nothing looked good for us – we had made it this far, but how much farther could we reasonably go before reality could manage to overtake us?

_The future is disheartening, but_ _we won't be caught,_ I assured myself, dispelling any worry that still lingered. _Fenris is still at my side, and Danarius is miles and miles away._ I glanced above us at the darkening sky, feeling more at peace than I had in quite a while.

_We'll go south and make some friends – if I exist somewhere else, somewhere _now_, then I'll just leave Kirkwall and return later._

_But what about Fenris? Does this mean that there is another Fenris? Because I have to meet him in the future to know to come back -_

I didn't want to think about _that_. I just shook my head. _No, no. One step at a time._

_The most important thing is that when Danarius _does _find us, we'll be ready for him._

I cuddled up into the side of my sleeping lover, my outlook on the future significantly brighter as I closed my eyes and let myself slumber.

**-H-**

I awoke hours later to the sound of the crackling fire. Night had fully fallen and I stretched and rolled over my makeshift pallet, yawning until my eyes watered.

"Good evening," said a deep voice to my right. I blinked my eyes open until the world focused, and spotted Fenris across from me, on the other side of the fire – and fully dressed in his leather jerkin and tights.

I pouted at the sight and he smirked at me, offering a pear. I caught it when he tossed it over, my bare breasts jiggling with the action.

I caught him staring and laughed, covering my lady parts the best I could with my arms as I took a bite of the pear. _Men_.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked as he bit into a crisp apple. I nodded, my eyes closing as I swallowed the juicy bite.

"Wonderfully," I sighed, feeling juice drip down my chin from the overripe fruit. I opened my eyes to peer over the fire at him. "You know, in the future, you never spent the night with me."

"Never?" he asked doubtfully, staring down at my bare, pale skin suggestively.

"We'd – well, we'd, um – we'd had sex, but you didn't stick around afterward." I picked at the blanket, pulling off a strand of grass and tossing it towards the fire.

"Is that what you meant by what you said before? About being gone when you woke?"

"Yeah," I said before taking another bite. "I got the feeling that you never really trusted me."

"Or maybe I was just an ass," Fenris said with a snort.

I chuckled. "That's why I don't puzzle over it; I _know_ you're an ass."

A piece of bread sailed through the air and popped me in the forehead; I laughed and threw it back at him, nailing him in the shoulder with crumbs.

"Why are you dressed, anyway?" I pointed out his jerkin as I took another dripping bite of the fruit.

Fenris eyes tracked the juice from the pear as it traveled down my neck; I paid no attention to covering myself, feeling devious as the sticky juice trailed slowly over my left breast.

"I." Fenris measured his words, slowly forcing out his answer. "I figured that…one of us should…be battle-ready…" he trailed of, paying close attention to my mouth as I took another bite.

"Did you?" I teased, readjusting my position and feeling the girls jiggle with the movement. Fenris swallowed.

_At least I know what kind of man you are,_ I thought mirthfully as he gave up trying to vocalize his answers and crossed the space between us, discarding his jerkin on the journey. He knelt down immediately and bent me backwards so swiftly I gasped; the surprised intake of breath was soon followed by a low, languorous moan as his hot tongue lapped up the trail of juice, capturing a nipple between his lips.

A chord struck through me and I jerked, grabbing onto his shoulders for stability. "W-what was that you said about – about being battle-ready?"

He growled and a pair of bare fingers met my sex, making me jump. Fenris' free hand supported my back as I arched backwards into his mouth; he lifted my hips and set me on his clothed lap, separating my thighs to either side of his hips, spreading me open and letting his fingers explore and stimulate as they pleased.

"Fenris," I gritted out as his mouth kissed higher, licking and sucking off the juice trail. His lips made it to my chin and mouth and he kissed me fully, rocking me closer as his fingers slid into me. "Pants."

He grunted as I pushed him backward, onto the blanket; the fire warmed our bodies as I pulled his tights down his legs, where he kicked them off and I climbed onto him as he sat up, his erection pressing into the flesh on my bottom.

The orange light of the fire kissed his skin and I sighed dreamily at the undiluted _desire_ in his dark eyes. His hands rested on my hips and I reached below us to angle him correctly; time inched by as we stared at each other, waiting.

I squeezed him in my palm and he grunted, pushing me down, slowing my descent steadily until he was fully seated inside of me. I inhaled raggedly at the full feeling and he pushed up immediately, impatient.

I laughed breathlessly and rocked down overtop him, taking him in and letting him slide out in turn, finding a rhythm. I leaned down to kiss him and his lips were fierce on mine, battling, and I raised my hands to his head to level myself enough to respond to his ferocity.

My pace wasn't fast enough for him, it seemed; he rolled forward, never breaking contact, and my back hit the blanket seconds before he began to drive into me, pumping hard, his mouth breaking contact as my back arched and my breathing quickened to accommodate the new pace.

"Fenris," I begged; he hoisted my hips up higher to meet his thrusts and the new angle jolted something inside of me that caused my entire being to unravel; I cried out, fisting the tough blanket below me, feeling the sweat roll down my neck and the euphoria spread through my limbs as Fenris followed me over the edge, panting and grunting, collapsing on top of me.

I laughed and combed my fingers through his sweaty hair, breathless with his weight on my chest. "We're dirty again," I murmured, as his hand dragged up my side to cup a breast.

"I'm not going back into the stream," he declared sluggishly, his face pressed against my collarbone.

I chuckled and sighed, wrapping my legs around his bare hips and embracing the heat that radiated from his body.

After a few minutes of listening to the sounds of the fire, the stream, and the forest around us, our breathing and heart rates evened out. I stroked a hand down his sweaty back and stared up at the field of stars above us.

"We should get moving soon," I muttered, not quite wanting to move on yet.

_No!_ my inner stubborn princess stomped her foot. _More Fenris. More sex!_

I rolled my eyes at myself and pushed Fenris off of me, letting him roll onto the blanket. His eyelids rose to regard me with amusement and I kissed his bruised lips.

_I bet I look like a hag_, I thought. _Smelling like sex and sweat, with all of these love bruises – oh Maker, I'm Isabela!_

That was enough motivation to jump belatedly into the stream, stamping down the shivers long enough to wipe off the sweat and musk.

Fenris' arms were open when I came, shaking, from the stream. I fell into his lap and he cradled my body close, rubbing my arms and legs to speed up the warm blood moving sluggishly through my veins.

When I was warm again, we rose and dressed – on separate sides of the fire, with our backs to one another to be safe – and by the time light began to peak out from beyond the horizon, we had snuffed the fire and replaced the blanket and the saddle on the horse. After a check to make sure we had retrieved everything – what remained of the fruit, the armor - we set out again, beginning at a slow trot that escalated into a loping run.

Fenris pressed a kiss into my neck from behind, and I gripped the reins in my fists.

_We're going to make it,_ I thought, glancing at the sky. _We can't be too far away from the coast. Maybe less than a week of travel, and a week of scrounging around for enough coin – or maybe we could just stow away on a ship__._

_We should find Varania and Fenris' mom – but they can wait._

_They aren't being hunted like we are__._

The sound of hooves echoed in my head as we continued south - away from the Imperium and Danarius and everything that Fenris had ever known.

* * *

><p><strong>LOL this part: <strong>_I giggled into his throat when he pinched__-_ **Word keeps begging me to change "pinched" into "punched" and I'M DYING AT THE MENTAL IMAGE OF FENRIS SUDDENLY REARING BACK AND PUNCHING HER IN THE FACE LIKE HOLY SHIT I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING "what the fuck Marian damn what is your problem" and her nose is bleeding "haha what the shit Fenris why would you punch me ow****" and Fenris is completely unapologetic like he didn't just punch her**** for picking on him**

**phew**

**okay**

**LMAO A PUNCH INSTEAD OF A PINCH**

**THAT ESCALATED SO QUICKLY**

**WHY CAN'T I STOP LAUGHING WHY IS THIS SO FUNNY I DON'T EVEN**

**AND MARIAN GIGGLING**

**SWEET BABY JESUS **

**okay. I'm done, I'm done.**

**OH, and by the way, Marian thinking "at least I know what kind of man you are" is a reference to Fenris being a breast man because hahahahaha I couldn't resist.**

_**What do you think is going to happen in the next 2-3 chapters?**_


	28. 24 Desperation

**Warning****: More lemons in this chapter, and the first one may be a trigger for some. I think it's pretty tame, and it isn't really non-con – OR dub-con – she just isn't fully prepared for it. This is the only warning you get, so again: read wisely.**

* * *

><p><em>The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. - Henry David Thoreau<em>

* * *

><p><strong>24. Desperation<strong>

I caught Fenris' eye as we walked side-by-side on the hot road; I had to swiftly glance away in fear of breaking into a goofy smile.

It had been like this for days – we would journey on during the day, make love during the night, and trade suggestive glances in the minutes between.

Said glances made me giggle uncontrollably.

I was quite certain that Fenris had been giving me that look on purpose just to see me lose composure – though I couldn't blame him; I bet I looked hilarious, bursting into a fit of giggles every time he met my eye.

He had been barefoot for a while, and I found it hard to be unsurprised that his feet hadn't blistered yet, walking as much as we were – but he had shed the armored boots as soon as he could and hadn't donned them since. We had stripped down the horse and sent it on its merry way back towards the capital – or wherever the horse wanted to go, really; I couldn't care less as long as it didn't hang around.

_Nothing that can be traced back to us_, I thought, remembering the helmet that I had carefully discarded into the river. It would be swept away by the current and cleaned of blood; it would be far away downstream by now.

I didn't really think that Danarius would use a helmet to track us down, but I couldn't be too cautious, at this point. I had never been on the run from an intelligent life form – most people usually ran from _me_. All of this was new territory for me.

_All of this has been unfamiliar territory,_ I thought, grasping Fenris' hand. _From Tevinter, to slavery, to being loved by Fenris._

But I was a survivor, and I had been able to handle everything so far. Danarius, however crafty as he was, had nothing on me when it came to being stubborn.

_We _will _make it to the sea, and Danarius can't stop us._

Our bread, regretfully, ran out rather fast. We were on the last scraps and hadn't replenished the bounty; our stomachs growled, but we weren't short on water – we continued to walk near the stream, on the closest road now that we wagered we were far enough away from the heart of the Imperium – and the river only continued to grow larger, which led to me being increasingly hopeful that we would soon hit an ocean.

A creaking wagon had been catching up to us for the better part of an hour; Fenris and I turned as it finally approached, being pulled by two hefty beasts in front and driven by one rather stout man with a mustache.

The dark mustache twitched when he spoke; he pulled the beasts to a stop and addressed us. "Where you two headed?" he asked from beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

"To the city just south of here," I answered, pointing down the road nonchalantly.

"You refugees?" he asked, sizing us both up – Fenris with his bundled package full of armor on his back, and me in my mage robes.

"Unfortunately, we are," Fenris replied, glaring up at the man. "My Mistress and I are fleeing from the conflict with the Qunari."

_Why didn't I think of that?_ I glanced from the man to Fenris. I had to hide a smirk. _Heh heh. Mistress._

_He said it – not me._

"I'm headed the same way," the man said, relaxing against the wood at his back. "Why don't you two hop on the back? I'll give you a ride."

"Thank you," I said gratefully, pulling Fenris around the cart by his arm. "This is much appreciated. If there is anything we can do-"

The man grumbled and waved his arm in the air, muttering something about his tender heart and getting robbed one day. I grinned and hopped onto the back, letting my feet dangle.

Fenris eyed the spot beside me warily; the cart started up and I cheerfully waved goodbye to him, happy to be off my aching feet for a while.

Fenris ran a few seconds later to catch up to the cart and swiftly jumped up beside me, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on my lips. I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder as we bumped down the road, the heat bearing down on our heads.

**-D-**

The generous traveler dropped us off in the next city and we – well, I – thanked him profusely for helping us on our journey.

The city, it turned out, was swamped with refugees; all of them were funneling towards the coast, just like we were. We were in luck, though; all we had to do was wade into the confusion and none was the wiser.

Our first priority was food – but Fenris handled that quickly enough; he stole a melon from a street vendor and we disappeared into an alley to eat – we had to squeeze past the milling bodies and force our way across the street, so cramped were the quarters. We devoured both halves of the melon in record time, going as far as to eat the tough skin for good measure.

"Ah," I sighed, patting my stomach. "That's much better."

"Come on," Fenris said, standing and offering me a hand. I let him help me up, pulling me to my feet in one smooth motion. "Let's move quickly."

_Quickly_, I thought sarcastically, gazing out at the herd of people. _Right._ Loud wails wafted on the air; it was difficult to hear my own thoughts as we waded back out into the crowd.

I got jostled and pushed, but nobody turned violent – we were all aiming towards the other side of the city; a few people would stop to trade possessions for food from the street vendors, but most could discern that the effort would be fruitless.

In my experience, cities and tradesmen had no love for war refugees. Guards forced us onward at a steady pace; those who fell were trampled over and left behind. Voices echoed off of the buildings, loud and obtrusive, and the trek through the city – though potentially beneficial, with the availability of food and the easier route – seemed like too much trouble to have bothered.

_We should have gone around_, I thought irritably as a piece of angled wood stabbed into my arm, drawing would have taken just as long, and with potentially less injuries.

_But we wouldn't have been able to steal any food,_ I thought, feeling my stomach rumble. A half of a melon wouldn't tide me over for long, but it gave me enough energy to keep going.

There were many in the crowd who were already injured – they fared the worst. They were swept aside and walked on by the single minded crowd; several of the injured added their wails of pain and despair to the harsh din of the city.

A bad feeling lingered in my gullet at the sounds and sights – I was completely confident in our ability to fight and stay standing, but there was something about seeing the injured and dying, hearing their cries and screams for help and not being able to do anything – because we had to help ourselves first.

We were in no shape to be helping anyone. No one had helped me when I needed it – and we were in the same boat as everyone else here, even though we weren't technically war refugees.

I ignored the feeling in my gut and we continued onward, towards the far gates of the city. My feet and robes were trampled on several occasions during the journey; we were beset on all sides by hot, stumbling bodies. The extreme mass of the wandering refugees was slowly destroying the city around us – but in the crowd, Fenris and I were just two among many.

Side by side, we slowly shifted our way to the other side of the city. Guards were stationed around the mobs to keep some semblance of order, but they seemed to be mostly for decoration – they were no more a guard than I was an elf, at this point. They didn't want anyone lingering in the city – we were to move through, stock supplies if we had the coin, and move on. The guards were there to keep us in line so we didn't try to sneak off into the rest of the city. We were confined to the main road to reduce the damage and keep the rest of the city in order. I saw several people bargaining with the guards, claiming to have family in the city, to be a citizen – and I was insanely happy that I wasn't that person this time.

_Uncle Gamlen is in the city,_ I mocked my memory. _He's a nobleman. _

I snorted. _Gamlen, noble. If Gamlen is noble, then my left ass cheek is king of Ferelden._

The crowd ahead of me broke apart just long enough for me to glimpse the gates – they weren't too far off, now, as the sun began creeping lower in the sky – the great, hulking pieces of iron were wide open, but the crowd was difficult and large. We could do nothing but slowly shuffle along in one large mass; turning back would be a waste of effort, at this point, so forward was where we trudged. It would be nightfall before we even made it back on a road. I sighed.

"I can't believe this," I muttered to Fenris. I didn't expect him to be able to hear me over the noise in the street, but his ears had picked out my words.

"We must be patient," Fenris replied, glancing around us. We had planned to sell his armor – which was strapped to his back in a bundle of cloth – but I couldn't even see a vendor from where I was in the middle of the street.

_Hopefully the crowd will dwindle and disperse outside the gates,_ I thought, biting the inside of my cheek. _Maybe we don't all have the same plan – perhaps they intend to cross into another section of the Free Marches, or they plan to go west -_

"Is the war with the Qunari so terrible?" I wondered aloud, my thoughts somehow turning to Kirkwall.

_I never did find out why the Arishok was really in Kirkwall._

That line of thought occupied my mind for some time; I fancied the thought that the Arishok had a lady friend in the city, one whom he refused to leave.

_How scandalous._

I could admit that the Qunari were a terrifying race – but surely if this many people suffered from the war, it was time to halt the efforts against Par Vollen?

_War will never be fruitful for everyone__,_I thought to myself, watching as a person a few yards in front of me dropped. We continued to move, and his head didn't resurface before I passed the place where he fell.

He seemed to have had a heat stroke; he lay on the ground, twitching, but I only got a brief eye full of him before I was pushed forward by the crowd.

I didn't remember much of the war between Tevinter and the Qunari, only that it had been lasting for such a long time that people hardly knew how it truly began – in fact, I hardly knew anything about the Darkspawn attack in Ferelden - only that I had to get my family away from it.

A burly man stomped on my foot and I winced, glaring at the wandering refugee – he didn't catch my harrowing gaze, but that didn't stop me from sticking my tongue out at the back of his head.

If _my_ booted feet were being pummeled as they were, I could only guess as to how Fenris' feet were doing. I turned to ask him how his toes had weathered the crowd when something inside the gates ahead caught my eye.

Imperial guards – but we were miles away from the heart of the Imperium. Puzzled, I rolled to my toes to get a better look – they seemed to be checking the herd of refugees for runaway slaves, each person having to show their face to a guard before they were allowed through the gates.

As I watched, a guard threw a random elf aside. The man protested and kicked, but a few other guards dragged him away from the gates of the city.

A slave who thought that he was clever enough to sneak away in a mass of confusion.

_Oh, shit._

I'm _a runaway slave – and I'm fully convinced I'm clever._

I felt a little sorry for the man – but I intended to get out of the city without any hiccups.

I sighed. I wasn't naive enough to assume that the men were specifically there for Fenris and I – but I wasn't going to leave it to chance. They probably had drawings of slaves or debtors trying to escape on hand, and even if there were no drawings of me – they would most definitely have an idea of what Fenris looked like.

_We're going to have to go around regardless_, I despaired, thinking about how we would have to fight the crowd and then spend the night wandering around the edges of the city just to get to the other side. _Crap. I thought we were far enough away from Minrathous __– I guess that just shows how much I know._

I turned to warn Fenris of the impending danger – and then kept turning, only to be jostled and pushed by the crowd as I inevitably halted.

"Fenris?" I called, turning around and around. _He was just here! Maker's breath, I need to put a damn bell on him._ "Fenris," I yelled again – and even I could hear the hint of worry in my voice as he was nowhere to be found in my general vicinity.

_Deep breaths,_ I told myself. I had broken down before from the panic, and I didn't need a repeat performance. _But he was _right here_!_

"Fenris!" I cried, my voice swallowed by the crowd. A man's hip checked my side and I was sent sideways into a bulky woman, who shoved my away with considerable force – and into an oncoming man, who grasped my shoulder with a fist and threw me aside.

I cursed and shouted and punched back, but I couldn't even halt the progress of the oncoming people – they just stampeded through me, like I wasn't even there. I growled and elbowed, and grunted as I was bruised and battered by the people, but I never stopped yelling for Fenris.

"Fenris!" I screamed right before someone's elbow collided with my face. Pain blossomed on my cheek, but I was pretty certain that it had been an accident – or, at least, unintended.

Fright flooded my bones and took hold of me – my tongue and lip bled from being bitten and worried, and my clothes were disgusting again – but I saw nothing of Fenris.

_He's gone._ I turned around hopelessly, scouring the ground with my eyes, wondering if I would find him as a lithe body underneath a herd of feet – but it sounded ridiculous in my head; Fenris would never succumb to something like that.

_The guards found him,_ was my next thought, and I glanced to the sides of the crowd, seeing the guards at their posts. _He was recognized and taken away from me without me even noticing. Damn it!_

_He would have fought them off,_ I argued in my mind, thinking through my theories for holes, trying to quell the oncoming panic. _I would have noticed something. He would have caused a scene._

_In this crowd?_ My mind countered. I cried out in frustration and stomped my foot; the heat from the sun bore down on the city and I tried to think of something – anything else – that could have happened.

_Nothing could have happened._

_He wouldn't leave my side._

_It's _Fenris _– what if Danarius saw him? What if he's nearby, in the city – what if these are actually his guards, and they were waiting for us?_

My heart pounded and my hands shook. _Oh, Maker! Fenris, Fenris, Fenris – I have to find him – I have to go to him, he needs me -_

"_Fenris_!" I screamed as loudly as I could. _How will I find him? I have no hound to search for him – I'll have to travel all the way back to Minrathous, and tear down Danarius' door -_

_It'll be too late. _I felt tears well in my eyes at the hopelessness that wore down my bones. _If stopping Danarius means running all the way back to Minrathous on foot, I would gladly do it – but by that time, Fenris would already be-_

My breath quickened and my vision swam – _they took Fenris away from me._

_We were so close._

Someone finally succeeded in knocking me over; I stiffened and immediately tried to force myself back up, but there were too many people pressing down, stepping on my limbs. I curled into a ball and shielded my face – I doubted that I could outlast the crowd of people, the bodies that never seemed to end – but I couldn't manage to get back on my feet again. I struck out blindly with a bit of force magic before I realized that _maybe_ I shouldn't draw too much attention to myself.

_If Fenris is gone, maybe this is how it should be,_ I thought deliriously for a moment before a strong hand clasped over my shoulder and pulled me out of my stiff ball. My robes were ripped and tattered, but two strong hands clamped over my arms, halting me right in the middle of the street, completely uncaring of the crowd that swamped the area.

"Marian," Fenris spoke, and my eyes snapped up immediately. Relief burst inside of me and I could have cried – but Fenris' eyes were wild and fierce. "What the hell were you _thinking?_"

My temple pounded – someone may have kicked it – and every inch of me felt sore and abused.

"I –" I stammered, unable to cross over the intense _relief_ of him being near. I heard a sob escape my mouth seconds before my arms wrapped around his waist of their own accord – he sighed, and an arm wound around my shoulders and steered me away from the heart of the crowd.

He took the brunt of the resistance – we fought against the wave of refugees, but Fenris did most of the work by brushing people aside with his free arm, hitting and battling with the more stubborn ones. I felt useless, tucked into his side, my arms shaking around his waist, trembling with residual fear and overwhelming relief.

We made it to a small side street, not unlike the one we had eaten in earlier – Fenris backed me up all the way to the end, and my back hit a stack of crates. I pulled him close and pressed my face into the front of his jerkin, trying to banish the weakness I felt.

"We need to leave," I said haltingly, my voice giving out on every other syllable. His arms held my shoulders, pressing me closer, and I gasped in a few inhales, trying to stop the tears any way that I could.

_He's fine – we're fine._

_Danarius is far away – I knew that._

"The guards," he said shortly, his dark, deep voice rumbling in my ear. "I know. I saw them."

"I lost control," I said, holding him even closer. "I'm sorry."

_I almost got myself killed because I couldn't get a handle on myself – what's wrong with me?_

"You lost control," he said blankly, hands squeezing my shoulders even harder. "You _lost control__._ I saw you fall, Marian – you were nearly –"

"I couldn't find you!" the words bubbled out of my mouth. "You – I thought – the guards –"

Rough fingers yanked my hair and I winced, but a second later his hot mouth was on mine and I forgot what had caused me to wince – he bit at my lips until my mouth opened, and his immediately conquered mine. I couldn't keep up with him – he pressed me into the tall stack of crates, lifting me, and I could taste his desperation, I could sense a feeling akin to the terror and despair that I had experienced when I couldn't find him.

_He couldn't find me, either,_ I realized with a spark of clarity. I was lifted up, and worried briefly about the strain his bad arm must be taking, but the thought was snuffed out when my robes were parted and two fingers wove into my sex, pressing incessantly, and I was breathing heavy but it wasn't enough, I wasn't getting ready, I was too stressed and upset and I didn't even have time to moan before his tights were lowered and his fingers were gone – and then he was forcing himself into me suddenly, making me cry out and curl my toes against his jerkin.

I peeked over his shoulder from my position, but no one even bothered to look into the alley – we were far enough back, and the alley was shaded enough by tarps and hanging laundry that we weren't interrupted. The desperate force that Fenris used to drive in and out of me made me wince; the wood dug into my back, but I clung to Fenris' shoulders and moved with him, knowing that he had panicked just as I had.

I could understand that he needed me, and I would be here – Fenris panted into my ear, kissing and biting the flesh he found there, and I dug my heels into his back, holding him close, reaffirming to him that I was still alive.

He spilled inside of me and his head fell against my chest; my arms rose and held him there, carding through his hair, whispering things like _it's okay_ and _we're fine_.

_No more cities_, I told myself, feeling Fenris waver around me. _This event has been too stressful for both of us._

Fenris lowered my legs, and I did my best not to cringe at the raw feeling between my legs – but I didn't hold it against him. He had always been there for me when I needed him, hadn't questioned me so far – I tried to take his hand after we adjusted our clothing, but instead he wrapped his arm around my shoulders again, holding me closer, and we forced our way out into the waves of the crowd, fighting everybody in our path until we reached the north entrance of the city again.

**-D-**

A silent agreement passed between Fenris and me as we began our long trek around the edge of the city – we would not be fighting our way through another city like that anytime soon. It was too dangerous – if the guards really had been looking for us, and we hadn't seen them first, we would have been blindsided and overtaken. Or worse – stomped down in the street like an urchin.

I couldn't be sure, but I knew it had shaken Fenris to see me go down. He must have gotten a glimpse of me seconds before I fell – and I didn't know how far away he had been, but I had glanced around everywhere near me in a desperate attempt to find him. The crowd was confusing and harsh, and I had no desire to repeat the experience.

The moon had begun its task of rising in the darkening sky, and we were still walking; Fenris had dropped his arm in favor of grasping my hand as we walked along the outside wall of the rather large city. There were a few others who braved the unconventional journey, but we strayed farther and farther from the city the longer we walked, making a wide circle and keeping several meters of distance between us and the other travelers.

No words passed between Fenris and me – but after a solid hour of walking, he suddenly veered off towards the trees. As my hand was in his, I suddenly found myself being pulled away from our path, but I quickly caught up to him with only a little bit of confusion.

He didn't stop until we had scraped our way by several trees to a small clearing, and when we finally made it he dropped my hand and the pack on his shoulder without any hesitation. A second later, his eyes met mine – and the expression I found in his was serious and stern.

I waited for him to speak – because I knew he had everything to say – but his mouth stayed firmly clamped shut, his lips a thin line and his face drawn.

I took a slow step forward and placed my hand on the outside of his wrist. "Fenris?"

He exhaled through his nose stiffly and his eyes wound shut; his head shook, and I didn't say anything else. We just stood in the dark woods, with nothing but the light of the moon to see each other by.

In the silence, I could hear the roaring river – it was farther away than it had been since we began walking, but we never strayed too far, trusting it to guide us to the sea.

"What happens if Danarius finds me?" Fenris suddenly said. The abrupt, biting sound of his voice made me jump.

"Danarius?" I said, biding time to find my answer. "Well, uh – I'd try my best to stop him from doing his psychotic sketch on your skin."

"And if you fail?" he asked, voice hard. His eyes opened and bore into me.

"If I fail –" _there is no "if". There won't be anything if I fail._ "I – don't know."

"You don't know," Fenris repeated, nodding. "You don't know." He started to pace, his feet carrying him back and forth quickly in the small, weed-covered space. I helplessly watched as he stewed on whatever was bothering him – I couldn't do anything until he decided what to say.

He stopped as quickly as he at started, facing at an angle away from me. "I think I know."

I wanted to ask what his line of thought was – I wanted to pester and prod him until he told me, but all I could do was swallow and wait.

"You give up," he said, turning around to glare at me. "That's what you will do."

"No, I-" my mind struggled with the concept of moving on without Fenris, of struggling in vain with Danarius for power – of suffering with the knowledge that Fenris was beyond my reach-

"You thought I had been taken by him today," he argued, pointedly staying a few feet away from me. "And you gave up." His fists were clenched, and his teeth gritted – I could hear them grinding inside of his cheeks from where I was.

_A Hawke never gives up._

"Fenris, it isn't the same –"

"Isn't it?" he asked rhetorically, face dark with anger. "You couldn't keep yourself together and you almost died because I was gone." He spread his hands in a beseeching motion. "What do you expect me to do with that knowledge, Marian? That if something – _anything_ – happens to me, you will be forever beyond my reach?"

Abashed, I lowered my head and stared at a patch of bare dirt on the ground. "I usually don't panic like that," I quietly said, my hands drawing together in front of me.

"You'll have a hard time convincing me of that," Fenris spat.

"Fenris," I said, finding my words. "Do you understand how hard it has been for me?" I asked, staring away at a tree. "How much I've agonized over every little decision – should I change the future? Should I not? Should I speak to you? Is it too dangerous?" I pressed my lips together and fought off the tiding emotion welling in my chest. "It's – it's so –" I growled and glared at the sky. "That feeling that I just had out there? That feeling _crushes _me, Fenris. I can't help but feel like this – all of this – is my fault. If I could have refrained from you, if I hadn't ever spoken with you – I wish that some other master had bought me, so that I wouldn't have even met you in this time. If I hadn't – if I had just let you be, if I had been mute that first day, you wouldn't be in _peril_ like we are now." _Anything is better than the fear. Than the hopelessness. _

"Is that what you think?" he asked, tone blistering.

"I don't know," I moaned, a hand rising to pinch the bridge of my nose. "I don't really know why I was sent here – I don't know if I'm meant to learn a lesson, or gain some understanding by being a slave – I don't know if I'll ever go back or if I'm fated to stay here...I just know that I love you, and that I've been closer to you than anyone I have ever come across in my lifetime – or both lifetimes, I suppose." My hand dropped. "Which is why I don't know what I'll do if you're – if this...doesn't work."

"You don't stop running," he said with less anger. "Even if I'm taken and destroyed, that doesn't mean you surrender and die."

"Why not?" _When _should_ I lay down and die? Everyone else has left – why can't I?_ "My life has always been about my family – and then my family was taken from me. I had nothing to live for."

"Your life isn't about me," Fenris said impatiently, his arm twitching furiously at his side. "It's about – surviving, overcoming, and improving. Your life doesn't stop just because mine does."

"You don't understand," I said, voice weak. "I've lost everything good in my life, one way or another. It isn't always about survival – if you're taken from me, Fenris, I won't _have_ anything left to live for."

Fenris cursed, stalking forward. "That isn't _fair_, Marian," he growled. I stepped away from him, backing away slowly until my back hit a tree and I couldn't go any farther. "How do you expect me to cope with the knowledge that if I fail, I take your life with my own?"

I stared over his shoulder, unseeing. "That's the funny part," I whispered. "You won't have to cope. You won't even remember." _But I will._

I flinched when his fist snapped forward, striking the tree beside my head. A harsh string of curses fell from his mouth, each one flowing into the next so quickly that I could hardly keep up. My eyes fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry," I said miserably. "But that's the way it is."

_If you cease to be, then so do I._

"No," he shouted, leaning into my face to make eye contact. "I won't allow it."

_You wouldn't be able to stop it._ "You won't have to," I said, meeting his gaze evenly. "Not if we are careful and crafty. I wouldn't have tried running if I thought it was futile, Fenris." I reached out and grabbed his hand, the one he had used to assault the tree; I picked it up and pressed the bleeding knuckles against my lip, using a bit of healing to stop the bleeding and reject infection.

He pulled his hand away and pressed his forehead against mine. "Stop," he said quietly, gazing down at me. "Stop thinking that life is over if I'm taken away." He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me away from the tree until he could wind his arms around me, pulling me tightly against him.

_He can't bear the thought of me giving up_, I thought, pressing my face into his neck. _I understand what he means – but it doesn't change the fact that I really won't have anything to strive for once he's beyond my reach._

"Okay," I acquiesced, voice small. He sighed, sagging a little against me.

"I don't believe you," he said shortly, but released me.

"I'm sorry."

We stood quietly for a few moments before Fenris turned and picked up his sack of armor. I followed him further into the woods; he didn't stop until we were in a clearing beside the river. I marveled at how the moonlight sparkled on the surface of the water, dancing on every ripple – Fenris discarded his pack again and sat down on the moist dirt.

After a few moments of silence, I dropped beside him, scooting until I could lean onto his side.

"Have you really never had cake?" I asked suddenly out of the blue. Fenris started at the random question, and it seemed to shock him out of his funk enough to chuckle.

"Where did that come from?" He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

I shrugged. "I was just thinking about the future – this future. The present, I suppose."

"What about it?" It had been so long since he told me about never having cake – months? A year? Had it been so long? I couldn't remember.

"I don't think I ever saw you eat a single sweet in the future," I said. "But if you've never tried it, how do you know if you like it or not?"

"Is this line of thought going anywhere?"

"I'm going to bake you a cake," I finally said, staring up at the mind-numbing view of the stars above. "No, several cakes – and pies. When we settle down and can afford the ingredients, I'm going to bake and cook for you every meal and dessert until I know your favorites."

Fenris huffed out a laugh. "Are you?" he asked. "And if I have no favorite?"

"Then I'll bake and cook for you forever," I said, grinning. "And there are smaller sweets, too – like chocolate. I could get a mold and cocoa and try to make small truffles – and sweet ice, too – things I've never made, like Orlesian cheesecake and Antivan tomato pie –" I went on and on, listing different sweets and foods until I drove myself to starvation – and then I changed topics to where I would take him. Ferelden, the Free Marches – and everywhere else I had never been; I could show him Lothering and Denerim and everywhere else I had traveled in the wide world. I told him stories about Isabela and Varric, and my family, and how I had met them all – beginning with Aveline, on the road out of Lothering, and then Varric after a year of service with the smugglers – and especially himself, after the odd letter in the mail, and then everyone else until I ran out of breath and had to stop.

About halfway through my little tirade of words I had discarded my boots, and I was rubbing the soles of my feet with my thumbs, working out the stiffness. It felt nice to finally sit down; the day had been so tense, it felt almost abnormal to sit and relax as we were. But there we were – side by side, pissing away the evening with too many words.

"Are there any big differences between the Fenris you knew and me?" he asked.

_This again._

I paused, thinking to myself. _He won't be satisfied with another bullshit answer. _Then I leaned over and cuddled into his side, nuzzling his neck and ear – and I dragged my fingers over his arm, and he turned to me – puzzled, but receptive. He kissed my cheek and raised his hand to cup my neck, and I pulled away.

"That," I said simply, sitting back where I was. "You hated to be touched."

"I've never liked to be touched," he said pensively. "You are a glaring exception to that fact."

"You wouldn't even welcome _my_ touch in the future," I replied, thinking of all the times the white-haired elf had shied away or pushed me from him. "I always thought that most of the aversion to touch came from the markings – but you really don't let many people close as it is. Maybe having markings and experiencing that pain just exacerbated that facet of you." It would be something altogether different and odd to grow into a future where Fenris enjoyed my touch – where we loved each other instead of biting at each other's throats.

_What's wrong with both?_ I thought deviously, stifling a snicker.

"Why did you go near me at all, then?" he asked. "If I was an ass in the future, why did you even try to grow close to me?"

I sighed. "I don't really know, actually." I finally gave in and leaned back onto the ground, pillowing my head with my arms as I stared up at the sky. "You were fascinating, I suppose. There was always something about you that drew me to you – even though you tried your hardest to push me away," I said with a wry smile. "I could sense that you were in pain, that you _needed_ someone, but you never let me in. I could never really understand why – I treated you kindly, and we got along when we weren't trying to take off the other's head. I would have done anything for any of my friends if they needed me, but I always wanted _you_ to ask things of me because I wanted to be there for you."

I shook my head. "You never let me close. I could never guess what you needed to hear from me, what combination of actions and words needed to be performed before you finally realized that I was put in Kirkwall to be at your side." I chuckled. "Damn it, I sound horribly romantic."

Fenris leaned over, blocking out the view of the stars – but I didn't mind. His mouth descended onto mine and I arched closer to him, prolonging the contact.

"Horribly romantic, indeed," he said before kissing down my neck. "The Fenris of the future is a fool. I do not intend to spoil away the time I have with you." I arched upward, into his mouth, and he unclasped the front of my robes, pushing them apart. A hand reached in between the fabric between my legs, and I winced, tensing.

_Ah, shit._

Fenris pulled away immediately, face full of glaring suspicion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said regretfully – and it was the truth, there really wasn't anything wrong. "It's just – we've made love so often, and then in the city against the crates – I'm just a little sore."

Fenris exhaled through his nose, staring down at me. "Are you okay?"

"Absolutely," I said, reaching up to pull him closer, rubbing my thighs together. _It barely burns._ "Don't mind me."

He pulled away from my groping hands. "Marian," he said, squinting down at me.

"I mean, it only aches a _little_ –"

He rolled away with a sigh and I pouted, sitting up and scooting over to him.

"I can handle it," I said, feeling like a child begging for candy. "I promise."

"Do not ask me to hurt you," Fenris said, voice serious and quiet.

A noise of protest formed in my throat._ I've been spoiled by the past few days_, I thought, pursing my lips and frowning. _But we were making up for lost time_.

_I regret nothing!_

After a few moments of silent, burning sexual frustration, I leaned over where he lay on his side and began kissing his neck from behind, tugging on his skin with my teeth and licking the small bites.

"Marian," he said tersely, turning his head.

I sighed and backed away. "_Fine_," I huffed, rolling away and onto my side, facing opposite him. My arms crossed and my small pout turned into a full force brood in no time.

I heard a deep breath behind me, and then a warm body pressed against mine. Fenris laid his head on mine, his arm circling me, drawing me closer to him. "We've held each other off for so long in the past," he mused. "Why does _this_ instance irk you?"

I shrugged, and though I didn't really feel like talking anymore, I still answered him. "Maybe it's because we've finally crossed that bridge and fully experienced each other," I said, frowning into the dark. "Now that I know just how amazing it is to be with you, it's going to be hard to not – I mean, to keep my hands off of you."

"I can relate," he said, pressing close to me. I sighed and turned in his arms.

"I'll take the first watch," I offered, snuggling close to his chest.

"You won't stay awake for very long like this," he said responsibly. I sighed, my brows pinching together as I rose. I inched backwards until my back hit a tree, and then I motioned for Fenris to follow – I guided him to my lap, letting him rest his head on my thighs.

He hummed with contentment; I brushed his dark hair out of his face, marveling at the drastic difference in color between now and the future that I had known. I scratched my nails on his scalp, noticing how he relaxed further into my lap when I did – and then I traced the tips of my fingers over and down the tip of his ear, to his jaw, up to his cheek.

I spent my half of the night memorizing his face, young and free, unmarked and unburdened by inconceivable pain. I trailed two fingers over his chin in mirrored lines, and carried the motion down his throat.

His breathing evened and slowed, and I eventually stopped playing with his face and let him sleep. I would occasionally brush my thumb over his hand, or run my fingers through his hair, but for the most part I kept my eyes on our surroundings.

If anyone planned to sneak up on us, I would be the first to know about it.

_Maker have mercy on any man who would fancy taking my Fenris away from me._

The thought had crossed my mind, and I didn't realize what I had actually thought until a few moments later.

_My Fenris._ The possessiveness of the statement startled me; this entire time, I had been working to free Fenris – I had never imagined owning him, or working up to a place where I would ever own him.

I was his equal; we were mates, partners, lovers.

_But he's _my _Fenris_. I couldn't really explain where the thought came from, but I couldn't dispute it – he was _mine, _and I was his.

I chuckled to myself, staring up at the sky. _Perhaps love is a lot more like slavery than I first believed._

_Maybe Fenris would never let me close because he realized this before I did. The autonomous Fenris of the future had worked for so long to acquire freedom – perhaps longer than he could even remember._

_Of course he wouldn't give himself to me without preamble_. It sounded quite reasonable, actually – except that the Fenris I had known had been damaged. I knew that no matter what Fenris I was around or in what time, I would always be whatever he needed me to be – and I would have worked so damn hard to patch him up if he had let me in.

But this Fenris needed me, too, and had already given me his heart. He trusted me, and I trusted him, and we were one unit – I was nothing without him.

I ran my fingers through his hair again, my eyes lowering to his face as I contemplated this new perspective.

I would never claim to own him, nor he, me – but perhaps in a certain sense, we owned each other.

_How silly it is to think,_ I thought, my mind lingering on the ferocious white-haired elf of the future, _that Fenris might have been worried of passing ownership of himself to me._

I dismissed the idea; it was ridiculous, really. I doubted he could have grasped what I felt for him; I doubted he even felt any sort of romantic feeling towards me, other than the obvious sexual tension.

I sighed and laid my hand on Fenris' chest, feeling his heart beating below my fingers.

The idea that Fenris had been scared off by the prospect of belonging to me felt preposterous because I had already placed myself in his hands many times over; I had lived for him when there was no one else.

_Have I not already proven that?_

_I will always belong to him._ There could be no disputing that; even the Fenris of the future had to have seen that I cared for him to the point of madness.

_I will always belong _with _him._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Did you wish Gideon Emery a happy birthday the other day? I left him a note on his facebook wall. He had a giveaway and everything! I was so pissed at myself for missing it. :I<strong>_


	29. 25 Scream

**Okay, where were we?**

**Oh, right! I was apologizing for being a shit nugget and not posting since FOREVER. Really, I'm so sorry, I just got caught up in exams and then holidays and drama and EVERYTHING ELSE and I sjdghldfjkghbfgbncvn**

**I know, I shouldn't make excuses. Other people write through that kind of crap all the time and I'm just being a big, lazy baby. BUT ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT I'M BACK NOW, RIGHT? And I'm bringing shiny new chapters to enjoy, to boot! Sorry if I didn't reply to your reviews, my internet craps out a lot and my phone deletes messages on my fanfic email. Stupid hunk of...**

**Moving on!**

* * *

><p><em>Recap of the last 2-4 chapters: Marian had devised a plan for escaping – again (like that went so well the first time), but this time, the two love birds finally pulled it off! Woo! They ran off on a stolen horse while Fenris is still injured from his pseudo-gladiator match. They ditched the horse, made sweet love by the fire, and – oh no! – got separated in a city, terrifying the living crap out of our two lovebirds. They swear off traveling through cities flooded with refugees from the war with the Qunari, and then things soon get super sweet again because this author is sappy (but don't tell anyone!). But of course, it ended with them laying around happily in the woods. Pfft. Layabouts. GET A JOB, HIPPIES!<em>

_Now we join our escapees as they flee through the wilderness, learning to love each other and trying not to get caught._

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><p><strong>25. Scream<strong>

I could readily admit to being impressed at how far we had traveled in such a short time; we weren't tracking our movements on a map, but I could guess that we had traversed a great distance.

And that wasn't just my feet talking, either.

We passed more and more cities the closer we came to the sea, but we only entered them briefly to sell Fenris' superfluous – and horribly recognizable – armor, sans helmet, for a pretty penny. After, we bargained for low prices on food – which Fenris griped about, seeing as how he had a suspicious skill of stealing whatever food we needed. But I didn't want to draw attention to ourselves, so bargain hunting it was.

We bought bread and meat, first; with what money remained, Fenris bought a sturdy sword. He confessed to having grown accustomed to two-handed blades, but we didn't have the funds for a nicer weapon, so a smaller blade would have to do.

After that – since we were in a smaller city, with fewer refugees – we asked around for work. We offered our skills to any who needed brawn or extra hands – I was asked to go search for a certain herb that only grew deep in the woods, and Fenris was asked to take down a bear that had been plaguing the small farms on the outskirts of town.

I was a little concerned about the bear – and he was more than a little concerned about me going into the woods alone – but I had learned to have faith in both of our abilities; so I kissed him on the cheek and bid him good luck. He nodded and left for the other side of town, and I entered the woods, humming beneath my breath.

_You are my sunshine,_  
><em>my only sunshine...<em>

Cheerful as I was, the woods were lonely and dark without Fenris by my side; I had to scour the forest to find the flower; around noon, I finally came across the damned thing and plucked it at the root, stuffing the grimy tuber and petals into one of my pockets.

My stomach growled and I munched on a few bites of bread on the trek back. When I broke through the woods, I could see the city – which was about as much of a city as Lothering.

A few bandits lingered on the outside of the town. One of the men singled me out and drew the others' attention to me; I sighed irritably beneath my breath.

_Of course._

"Hey, look at this one," called one, pointing me out. "A pritty maid, traveling all alone. You lost, Pritty?"

I forced a thin, fake smile. "Why? You plan to escort me to the village out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Somethin' like that," the man said, grinning at me. His teeth were a disgusting shade of yellow. He gestured to his mate with a flick of his wrist and the man drew his hammer as quickly as he could, raising it high to strike my shoulder.

I ducked beneath his swinging arm and landed a punch to the middle of his back, using his own momentum to propel him forward onto his face. Another man's footsteps sounded behind me, and my elbow snapped back to break his nose. He cried out in pain, dropping his weapon to grasp at his bleeding face, and I stomped on his foot with my boots.

A burst of fire magic scalded and singed another bandit; when he didn't stop, I froze him in place for a short moment. When he thawed, he immediately fell over. The final bandit, the leader, watched me with wide, fearful eyes.

I twitched my fingers in a cocky _come hither_ motion, but the damn fool turned and ran – but my lazy bolt of unfocused lightning was faster than his legs, striking him square in the back and sending him toppling and twitching onto the ground.

I looted them for money – even took a few pairs of boots and helmets, for good measure.

_Sweet, beautiful irony._

I sold all of the extra stuff once I returned to the village and was paid for my time spent finding the herb – and there was even some man from the nearby Chantry who paid me for taking care of the bandits. My pockets jingled happily as I walked around the town, waiting for Fenris to finish his task.

I sat by a fountain, enjoying the clean air and the warm atmosphere; the day hadn't heated as much as others yet, and I hummed beneath my breath as I waited.

I didn't have to wait for long; Fenris walked through the center of town, hauling a bear pelt behind him. He tipped his head when he saw me; I jumped up and walked over, lending my strength to his efforts.

Together, we sold the pelt and Fenris was paid; he handed the coins to me to add to our growing stock and we headed onward, nodding at the few people we passed.

When I smelled the bakery, I couldn't resist myself – I halted Fenris and ran inside, inhaling the strong scent of the warm, fresh bread. I laid a few copper on the counter and asked for two rolls – and I watched ravenously as the man drizzled honey on top before handing them to me.

I ran out to a patiently waiting Fenris and offered him a bun, grinning at his raised eyebrow. We strode out of the town and back toward the line of trees, forever cautious; I bit into my bun and nearly cried as it all but melted in my mouth, steaming into the noon air.

Fenris took a much larger bite than I; I stared at him curiously, wondering how he would take to the sweetness.

He caught me staring out of the corner of his eye and swallowed. "What?" he asked tersely.

"What do you think?" I asked, looking pointedly at the bun in his hand.

In response, he lifted the bun and took another large bite. I grinned, taking another bite for myself.

I licked some of the thick honey that dripped onto my lower lip; when I glanced back up at Fenris, I noticed he had dropped some honey, too – right on his chin.

So I, of course, stopped him to get it off.

With my mouth.

I kissed off the excess honey from his bottom lip, tasting the musky, sweet flavor of the syrup. I finished off my delectable nibble with a sweet kiss to his lips, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling him closer to me.

"Delicious," I said cheekily when I pulled away. He pulled me back up immediately, his hands bracing my hips, raising me to my toes in order for him to recapture and explore my mouth.

"Indeed," he replied afterward, voice rumbling, making my belly flip. I couldn't resist; I rose up again, tasting the honey and skin and lips between us, and he pushed me back – the last bite of his roll dropped to the ground, forgotten, and my back eased against the smooth bark of a tree. Reluctant to break contact with his mouth, I unbuckled my robes by touch alone, sliding them apart as I was hoisted. My lower robes were hiked up and out of the way and I wrapped my legs around his skinny hips distractedly, as his lips demanded the majority of my attention.

He held me aloft easily, his hand playing along the flesh of my thigh; I squirmed when he pinched me, arcing up against him and he thrust his clothed hardness against my smalls.

I finally pulled away and gulped in a few ragged inhales, leaning my forehead against his. "It seems like we've been here before," I said between pants, referring to the tryst against the wall all those months ago. "I recall that it got us into trouble."

"When are we not in trouble?" Fenris retorted rhetorically, his free hand sliding between us to play at the heart of my sex, above my smallclothes.

"Point taken," I laughed, then gasped as my smalls were suddenly pushed aside and a couple of fingers were pressed inside my passage. I moaned against his lips as his dexterous, long digits found every spot they needed to, alternately stroking me deeply and circling my pearl.

I grasped onto his neck and my head dropped; he pulled out his damp fingers to quickly push down his pants and then he was sliding in, hoisting me up to get a better grip as he took me against the tree.

He circled his hips and I groaned, my head falling back against the rough tree. Fenris' lips lowered to my neck, biting and nibbling the bared skin, and I shuddered, clenching him tightly. He didn't take me gently; he bit and thrust dug his fingers into my thigh, but I still groaned and shook with pleasure, craving his touch, his bites.

I moaned – a high, keening noise – and came apart, grasping onto him tightly, my legs trembling around his hips. He followed me moments afterwards, spilling into me, panting into my hair and biting the ridge of my ear.

He pulled me away from the tree with shaking legs, but stumbled after a few steps and collapsed with me in his lap. I laughed in surprise at the sudden jolt of meeting the ground.

"You didn't finish your sweet roll," I pointed out, deliciously sated and sweaty.

"You are the best dessert," he said, leaning forward to nip me on the shoulder. I shrugged away from him, suppressing a laugh. I ducked and met his mouth with my own, still able to taste the sweetness of the honey on his lips.

"Mmmm," I hummed happily, kissing him again. We stayed where we were, partly clothed and utterly indecent – just holding each other, enjoying the other's presence. "I could get used to this."

"Fornicating against a tree?" Fenris muttered into my jaw.

I laughed and popped his shoulder with my open palm. "_Us_. Together. All the time – or whenever we want."

Fenris snorted. "_'All the time'_, you say. Such an insatiable wench." Even as he spoke, he was trailing a hand up the front of my robes, widening the split in the fabric in order to stroke a breast.

"That isn't exactly what I meant," I said. "But that, too." I gasped when he tweaked a nipple particularly roughly, and gripped his shoulders. "I, ah, really missed you when – when we weren't –"

Two hands abruptly grabbed my face and forced my lips to his; he kissed the words from my thoughts, and after a while of tasting him I completely forgot what I had been talking about.

When he pulled away, we were both panting. "We're together now," Fenris said, gripping my chin and holding my gaze. "It is the only thing that matters."

_If you say so_, I thought, but was soon distracted by his returned hardness pressing up into me, easing slowly inside. He was far gentler than before; his rough touches became reverent caresses, pulling apart my robes fully to glide over my warm skin. I ran my fingers through his sweaty hair as we moved together, falling into a steady, slow, teasing rhythm.

He lowered a hand to stroke my nub and I fell over the edge again, mumbling nonsense into his temple.

Afterward, we adjusted our clothing and stood; he had to grasp my arms to hold me steady, as my legs were a bit wobbly. I laughed and kissed him, and then we were walking again, cheerfully recounting our different experiences of the morning.

We counted up all of our coins, too, and I was excited to discover that we had enough coin to pay for passage the Free Marches for both of us _twice_ and even some left over for a nice used set of armor for Fenris. It wouldn't be custom or fancy like the armor he had favored in the time I knew him in the future, but it would protect his skin well enough.

I looked over at him, my mouth opened to say something, when my eye caught on something over his shoulder. I puzzled a moment – it had been a sudden flash of color, maybe the flick of a tail? I raised my eyes to warn Fenris that I had seen something over his shoulder, but he abruptly stopped.

With a violent curse, Fenris shoved me out of the way – I sensed the sting of harmful magic in the air as I rolled away, barely catching the force spell that caught Fenris, sending him crashing to the ground.

He shook off the blast quickly, but not quick enough; a bolt of lightning struck him in the back and I heard him grunt in pain as I leapt to my feet and conjured two balls of flames to my fists. I sent one of the balls hurtling toward a flash of fabric beyond Fenris; a bit of dead leaves swiftly caught fire only to shrink away from all the lush greenery.

"Fenris!" I shouted as he began to rise. A spear flew from the jungle, aimed at Fenris, but I batted it away with force magic. Fenris reached for his sword and I put a ward of protection on him, preventing any more meddling magic.

An arrow nipped at my arm, ripping the fabric of my robes; I felt blood trickle down to my elbow but didn't flinch. I sent another fireball towards the place where the arrow had approximately originated from – but right after the spell had left my fingers, the pommel of a sword struck the back of my head and I collapsed, my knees hitting the ground hard.

I heard Fenris cursing again – _why does it sound so strange to hear him curse?_ – and I tried to rise, pushing out with a bit of magic, but I was struck again, and a firm, iron boot stomped into my back, making my body seize with pain.

I gasped in a ragged breath, my eyes unfocused as the boot pressed harder – but suddenly the boot was gone, and I heard a crash a few yards away right before I was hoisted up and pushed forward.

"Go!" Fenris barked, and I barreled forward, further into the trees. I glanced to see if Fenris was following and ducked when I noticed a burst of fire hurdling towards my head. I stumbled a moment before regaining my footing, picking up my speed.

The forest lit with flames, and I turned, holding my ground for a moment. I immediately saw Fenris a ways away as he cleanly sliced apart a slaver; I shot a bolt of lightning over his shoulder at an approaching mage, and succeeded at knocking the bastard off his feet.

_This isn't it for us._ With a eardrum-piercing roar, I released a wave of unkempt energy before me – a tree toppled onto the leg of a slaver, and all the other men standing had to sink to a knee or be knocked over.

I turned just in time to see Fenris be struck in the side with a pommel; I grit my teeth and pushed my legs to move, feeling the strain and burn with the movement, running to my lover's aid.

Pain singed up my leg – I cried and lunged over, collapsing, unable to continue moving forward. My hands shook with adrenaline and shocks of pain as I gasped, pulling up my knee to view my pierced calf – the rod of the arrow jutting grotesquely from my flesh. A sound must have burst from my mouth, I heard my voice echo and then Fenris' return call, asking if I were okay.

A man's voice quieted him, and I heard a thump and a sharp exhalation right before people were on me, holding me down, pinning me – someone took hold of the shaft of the arrow and broke it, causing me to let out an unrestrained scream; sweat dripped down my neck and I cast my gaze around, daring to hope that we weren't beyond getting out of this.

My eyes landed on Fenris', and he looked pissed. His face screwed up and bloody, eyes boiling with rage and worry – his captors had pinned him on his stomach, his arms behind his back and his weapon yards away.

He cursed again, and with an odd, misplaced mirth I realized what had confused me about it earlier – I could understand every word he said.

Fenris had never cursed in Trade – only Arcanum.

With the adrenaline pounding through me and soreness licking up from my legs, I wondered again if this were all an elaborate dream caused by the dusty old man in the shop all those months ago.

That was all I could think before a boot on my shoulder kicked me squarely on the back of the head, sending me spiraling drunkenly into unconsciousness.

**-S****-**

I awoke slowly, being rocked to lucidness unsteadily with an unseemly gait. I squeezed my eyes shut and massaged my temple, grunting with the intense pain in my skull. There was a faint buzzing in my ears – and an emptiness inside me that I couldn't correctly place. My eyes cracked open again, sticky with unspent tears, and I met the emerald orbs of Fenris above me.

A heavy chain latched around his neck dangled over my chest, slacked, and a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek.

I heard a man with a deep voice heckle Fenris to move faster from a few yards ahead of us, and watched Fenris' mouth tighten. I lifted my neck, my head protesting the movement by aching sharply.

The chain connected to a cart just ahead of us – and as I watched, a man in the cart leaned down and yanked the chain, nearly causing Fenris to fall. He stumbled forward to right himself, almost dropping me – I hung on, feeling around the chain, trying to see if there were a way to free him.

When I couldn't pry it off, I pressed my fingers beneath the chain collar, trying to pad the thick iron so it wouldn't constrict his breathing as much – but I could hardly budge the metal and gave up, fearing that I would harm him more by trying to help.

"Shit," I cursed.

"Shit," Fenris agreed shortly, breathily.

"Let me down," I said, struggling in his arms.

Fenris shook his head sternly. "Leg."

I leaned over to catch a glimpse of my swinging calf, seeing the dried blood and bit of wood.

"Shit," I repeated, the panic lethargically seeping back into my chest. Taking my mind off my own ailment, I turned to examine his head with my eyes and fingers, running my digits through his hair soothing a particularly worrisome knot at the back of his head. "Are you okay?" I asked, trying to summon a bit of healing magic to help him. "Your arm should still-"

No healing magic conjured – I felt an odd, pinching sensation in my head and paused before trying again.

The same puzzling reaction. The confusion must have shown on my face, because Fenris said "the collar."

I raised my hand to my neck and jumped in surprise when I felt the cool metal hit my fingers. I hadn't even felt the pinching tightness of the collar – I just attributed it to the ailments of combat.

"_Shit_," I muttered again, trying to find an opening in the collar. I knew there wouldn't be; not one that I could exploit, anyway. Dread welled within me, trickling over my false dam of hope.

_We can't go back to Danarius._

"Fenris," I whispered, careful not to let the slavers hear. "We have to get away."

He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "Too many."

"_I don't care_," I said vehemently, my hands shaking. "We have to get out – we can't go back there, Fenris, he'll –"

_He'll take you away from me._

"Sorry," he said, voice tight, eyes cast over with inescapable gloom.

"Don't apologize to me," I growled, raising a hand to his face. I felt tears well in my eyes. "Never apologize, Fenris. This was my plan. This was my plan, and we need another one."

I heard his teeth grit in his mouth, and I knew what he couldn't say:_ We had our chance._

"Fuck, fuck, _shit_," I exclaimed, tears pricking at my eyes. "This isn't the end, Fenris," I swore, holding my palm fast against his cheek, meeting his gaze.

_We aren't helpless._

I let his cheek go and burrowed my face into his shoulder, letting the tears escape with the tension that I had been holding in for weeks.

"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely, voice wet with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

_Torture is all that waits us – even if we find some way to escape, we'll still..._

I leaned back and stretched forward to press my mouth against his – I let every passion escape my lips, every bit of love I had for him laid bare between us, and I hope he would realize that I would never give up on him. I pulled back to let him breathe easier, but I still pressed my face into his neck, my tears sliding down his sweaty skin.

_This isn't the end_, I promised myself, grasping onto him as if he were a lifeline. _We were so close_.

"Danarius can't have you," I spoke quietly into his neck. "He can't, because you're _mine."_ I wouldn't rest until we were free from this.

"I'm yours," Fenris responded in a gravelly voice. He stumbled forward again, but held me close, keeping me firmly in his grasp, never letting me drop. I circled my arms around his torso, promising quietly that I would never let him go, either.

The trip back seemed to take forever – I kept waiting for the hunters to stop for camp, to retie us to something, to loosen the chains on Fenris, but that never happened. They expected Fenris to walk the entirety of the way back to the heart of the Imperium, all the while carrying me – and I worried for his health.

I was given a few rations and a cup of leftover water, all of which I fed to Fenris. I knew that Fenris wanted to suggest just putting me down and seeing how fast I could get away without him – but I also knew that he would never be foolish enough to suggest that I run away without him.

We were going through this together – or we were going to escape together.

Hours passed, the day passed, and I succumbed to sleep, held steady and firmly by Fenris.

**-S****-**

I jolted awake when I felt sweaty, rough hands pinch at my skin, lifting and tearing me away from comfort. I started to scream and kick, my ferocity and pitch rising when my injured leg connected with someone's shoulder. I dropped to the ground and rolled onto my good leg, hopping away – someone dragged Fenris backwards across the courtyard by his chain collar, his hand reaching out towards me, anger stark on his face -

I ducked and wobbled when a sword flew at me; I elbowed my attacker in the temple and he dropped like a sack of boulders. With a bleeding anger I didn't know myself to possess, I jumped onto his neck with my good foot, jerking down with all of my weight until his neck snapped.

Yelling and full of rage, I was soon beset by guards on all sides – and before I saw black, I released one final cry, hearing it echo back to me on all sides.

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><p><em><strong>Did you see this coming from a mile away? Did you think they would make it? Do you think they'll still make it? Let me know!<strong>_

**I read and appreciate every review I get – so I'm especially sorry that I haven't replied to the last few that I've gotten!**

**Also, I regret to say that the next few chapters will probably be of the short and painful variety. :c I'll try to write them all quickly so they'll be over with faster.**


	30. 26 Cold

**Against my better judgment, I'm going ahead and posting this even though I might have wanted another week alone with it. ;O**

_"This is how I show my love;_  
><em>I made it in my mind because<em>  
><em>I blame it on my A.D.D., baby.<em>

_This is how an angel dies;_  
><em>I blame it on my own sick pride.<em>  
><em>Blame it on my A.D.D., baby.<em>

_Maybe I should cry for help,_  
><em>maybe I should kill myself.<em>  
><em>Blame it on my A.D.D., baby.."<em>

"Sail", AWOLNATION

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><p><strong>26. Cold<strong>

I screamed for hours.

I could no longer feel my throat, my face – I couldn't hear anything for the ringing in my ears, and still I screamed. I knew that any second my throat would rip and bleed – that I would lose my voice and be lost to nothing but my hopelessness.

I remained undisturbed in the cold metal dungeon. In the brief, deafening moments when I was forced to gasp for breath, the atmosphere nearly suffocated me – the weight of the situation bearing down upon me with bone crushing force.

I gulped, my throat scratching, tears long evaporated. I had been down there for hours – trapped in the dark, with no fresh air and surrounded by metal bars and stone.

I had awoken there, leg untreated, but no other part of me was seriously injured; when my voice began to give out, I turned to pick at my wound, painfully pulling out splinters. The arrowhead seemed to be deeply lodged – there was nothing I could do about it without any tools or assistance.

I may have slept – I could no longer force sound from my voice, and sometimes the shadows would overtake me in the dark. I lost track of time – I had no idea how long I remained trapped down there.

Hours? Days?

_Fenris._

Depression clogged my lungs. I woke up with my face pressed firmly against the floor, moisture clinging to my cheek. I choked, the dull ache in my leg flaring as I sat up with a grimace.

I realized what woke me when metal clanged; I eased against the wall, rising to my good leg and shielding my weak one, preparing myself for any of the possibilities that lay beyond the door.

The metal creaked open, allowing light to flood in – I had to shield my eyes, even if the light only came from the flickering flame of a candle.

"Marian?" issued a small voice.

"Pana?" I croaked, relief spilling through me. "What-" I cleared my throat, the sensation grating like knives, "- are you –"

"Master Danarius is going to maim Fenris," she said thinly, sounding disturbed. The candle drew closer; I had to squint to see past it and glimpse her cherub face. Metal clinked on metal at the door to my prison; the hinges protested when she pulled them open. "You have to save him."

"I will," I said resolutely. Failure would never be an option. I hobbled forward, grasping onto the bars.

"Hold still," she said, and bent down. A second later, pain sheered up my leg and I released a choked, gargled scream – a tinkling of metal hit the floor as Pana used magic to pull out the remainder of the arrow and sew up the wound.

I panted, seeing stars bleed around my vision for a moment. "O-o-ow," I said shakily. The leg was still tender when I landed on it, but it would have to do. "The collar-"

A small hand grasped at the collar at my neck and Pana cast around for the right kind of spell to unlatch it.

"I'm not sure how to-" she said, mouth scrunching in concentration.

"You should feel the key through the Fade," I offered hoarsely. _Unless Danarius has made it so only he can open it._ But that seemed like an extreme measure – I didn't know if a spell like that could be performed away from the caster or not...or perhaps the trinket had belonged solely to the slavers and was never replaced by one of Danarius' own collars.

I began to grow worried after many bumbling attempts by Pana – but a few minutes later, the collar fell off, and the Fade came rushing in.

I took a deep breath and felt fire tingle at my fingertips. My head tilted a little faintly – I had expended a large amount of energy without consuming any nourishment, but there was no time to amend the situation – I had to get to Fenris _now_.

And I knew where he would be.

I sprinted forward – later, I knew I would regret not thanking Pana for her help. My leg slowed me down, but I shoved myself onward as fast as I could travel – I noticed a guard stationed at the end of the hallway, leaning heavily against the wall. I didn't recognize this part of the mansion – had never traveled these pathways before – but the lack of knowledge didn't stop me from seizing the snoozing guard's weapon and stabbing him through the chest.

I unsheathed the sword from the sticky, living prison of the guard's ribcage and powered on, haphazardly up a flight of stairs, his choked, drowning gasps following me.

There were four more at the summit; all were surprised to see me barreling up the stairs two leaps at a time. I lunged forward quickly, spearing one and knocking another in the head with the pommel of my sword. A sword nicked my hip and I bared my teeth, slinging my blade at the juncture where the man's helmet met his collar, slicing clean through.

They were no match for my rage; I slaughtered them all without preamble or question. Blood ran down my arm as I continued down the hallway, my breath coming in short gasps for air after all of the exertion – a slice to my shoulder bled in angry red rivulets and I couldn't remember how it had gotten there.

I recognized this part of the mansion – the west wing, a floor below where I had slept. I huffed out a breath and ran for the closest set of stairs I could find – slaves and servants alike gasped and ran out of the way, some screamed for the guards – others merely ran away and left me in silence to run for the main stairs.

I had to move fast – I couldn't take another large wave of guards. My vision spotted black, but I _wouldn't_ – couldn't – slow.

The hallway at the top of the stairs seemed to stretch when I looked down at it; I ran to the east wing, where I would find the little trapdoor and the stairs back down to Danarius' personal workroom.

_Torture chamber_, I growled in my mind. I shoved a slave out of my way, too panicked and furious to care. The door to the dungeon below the east wing was locked from the inside; I kicked at it, and after a few tries I was soon throwing myself bodily at its surface.

I stumbled through, my side killing me, the door splintered behind me. I half-fell down the cold stone stairs, my legs failing me – _a little farther -_

My knees struck the stone stairs and I suppressed a cry, sliding down. The final door was at the bottom – I steeled myself, taking a deep breath, and threw it open.

"_Danarius_!" I thundered, magic crackling in the air around me as my fury returned full force. "Come out!"

"You're too late," was the only reply I received.

"You lie," I said, paralyzed in the doorway. I couldn't force myself across the threshold.

"If you would prefer, I could tell you that you have arrived in time and that your _lover_ hasn't yet perished," Danarius said lazily. I could hear the disguised anger in his voice – disappointment?

The meandering scent of acrid smoke reached my nose – the burnt flesh and lyrium -

"_No_," I gasped, voice wavering as I finally stumbled through. "You – you – you-"

I hovered, feeling pale, heart wrenched in a steel trap – and then I spotted him and couldn't stop the sob from leaving me.

"_No_," I sobbed, feeling my heart turn and shrivel on itself. "Fenris, Fenris – _no._"

I slowly approached his lifeless form – his skin ravaged and bloody, filled with pulsing, souring lyrium. It singed black in a few places, swam a sickly pink in most. I reached out timidly, shakily, to touch his wrist – his body completely unmoving.

_He's not breathing_.

I could hear noise at the back of my head – but soon realized it was only Danarius' droning voice. I couldn't see him, refused to take my eyes off of Fenris for even a second.

His head had been shaved – I ran a hand over his naked skin, my fingers shaking. _I failed._

_"What went wrong?"_ I whispered, touching his lips, his cheeks, his closed eyes – anything but the gaping holes in his skin, glaring reminders of how I had failed him.

Footsteps echoed in the door to the adjoining chamber where Fenris' body was – where I lingered. Danarius had approached.

"All of the training," the magister said, standing stoically in the doorway, "was meant to toughen him - to mold him into the ultimate fighter, to heighten his resistance to pain. You undid all of my work and subsequently doomed him by running away." I heard a rustling of clothing. "In short terms, my dear, this failure is _your_ doing."

"Shut up," I said, infuriating tears blocking my vision. "Shut _up_. All of your subjects died – all of them. How could you have ever believed he would be different?" I shouted. "You _expected _him to die."

"You were a misfortunate distraction," Danarius said, voice quiet, harsh. "And you cost him his life."

I coughed out a sob and curled over Fenris, pressing my hands down his neck, feeling for warmth – a pulse – any sign that he was still with me, but my hands shook and trembled, I couldn't concentrate on what I felt –

"You and I are growing more similar than you would prefer to admit, Taris," Danarius continued, but didn't move from the doorway. "We both kill to get what we want – even if it's our loved ones' lives at stake."

_No_.

I whimpered Fenris' name, pressed my shaking fingertips into his neck.

_You can't be gone._

_What have I done?_

The side of my finger skimmed one of the jagged, gaping wounds on his neck – I knew that the raw lyrium must have stung me, but I couldn't feel the burn.

"I somehow assumed, Taris, that you knew more than you let on about this particular brand of magic – you feared it even before I introduced it to you, and you were obsessed with my fighter, Fenris." His voice lilted, paused. "I grew suspicious that you knew more about the outcome of my experiments than I did – that you knew that this elf would be the one to survive."

"_I'm sorry._"

He chuckled vainly. "Ridiculous, isn't it? That a slave with a crush could have such insight." He sighed. "But never mind. There are other warriors available to me, other resources. In my next experiment, I will make certain that there are no _distractions_ like you to cause my specimen's downfall."

"_I love you__,_" I whispered directly into his ear. "_I'm sorry."_

Hot tears of mine dripped down his pointed ear, following the curve down the cartilage until it fell to the table.

"Despite everything, my dear, I would be remiss if I didn't offer you a position of apprenticeship again," Danarius continued, undisturbed by my quiet pain. "You are a valuable asset and a competent mage; if you will agree to study beneath me again, I will allow you to reinstate your presence here.

"This is my final offer of apprenticeship, Taris. I suggest you think it over wisely, instead of throwing away your brilliance because of this minor misfortune."

The reality of the situation hit me, then -

_Fenris is dead._

_I'll never see him again._

_Did I even meet him in the future? Will I?_

_Is this what I was sent to learn? That all I can do is fuck up?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

"Why?" I croaked, shivering over Fenris' body. I ran a hand down his naked head, feeling the chill on his skin.

I yelled, long and hard and full of every agony inside of me; shredding my throat again, burning my lungs, piercing my ear drums.

_No._

_He can't die here._

My focus returned with a shield of vehemence, protecting me from my crippling sorrow – and I just wouldn't fucking accept that Fenris was beyond my reach. My fingers trembled too much, a hand grasped at mine and I shook it off, casting about with my magic, feeling through the Fade –

I released a violent magic; things I had learned that I had never had reason to use – I drew on any power source I could find, drawing all of the magic and energy to me that I could before focusing on the body before me, closing my eyes and riding out the waves of energy, combating the lyrium that set fire to his veins at the source-

Magic scoured my fingers, and I screamed in pain, overloaded –

I smelled blood – my vision wavered black, and I lifted my hand to find a staunched wound, no longer seeping blood as I collapsed, sliding from the table.

_Blood magic?_ I thought, crazed. But I smelled more blood in the air than I had given; I dazedly cast my gaze about the room, finding bloody tools, a startled looking Danarius, and a crumpled, bloody girl not two feet away.

I couldn't worry about it now – I had to get back up –

My palms slid over every surface, and I couldn't muster enough strength to push myself up – my vision swam and waned.

A gasp of breath was heard, and a sickly blue hue flickered in the room.

I gasped and choked, my breath not coming as smoothly. My hand reached out and tangled in blonde, bloody locks – and I gagged at the smell.

"Well done, Marian," Danarius praised, surprise and amusement in his voice as he stepped forward. His countenance oozed pleasure from the turn of events. "He appears to be alive." His shoe tapped the body at his feet, and he kicked it over until he could see its face. He chuckled. "And where you have saved one life, you have taken another."

"N-" confusion furrowed my brow, and I tried to lift myself onto shaking arms. My breath left me when I laid eyes on her face – her sweet, narrow face -

"_Pana,_" I whispered, reaching for her weakly, trying to pull her closer. Her body slid sickeningly across the floor, a pinkish red smearing in her wake. "_Pana_, baby.."

Her lips were pale, but her eyes cracked open. She trembled slightly, her eyes searching, unfocused. "M-Mary?"

"I'm here, baby," I said, my voice barely more than a whispery croak. "I – I think that F-Fenris –"

"Mary?" Pana whispered again, voice strained. A few tears slipped out of her eyes and I wiped them away, my arms weakening, giving out until I was flush with the floor.

I pulled Pana to me, holding her against my bosom and feeling my own body tremble. "I'm here," I whispered, my voice giving out as the shakes intensified. The residual power that I had abruptly sucked from both of us had completely drained out along with the adrenaline, and I was crashing.

The light in the room shifted; through the flooding in my ears, I could hear a panicked breath, could see Fenris crouched in a defensive position on the table, his shoulders shaking.

"F-F-F-F-" I could no longer coax sound from my throat. _This wasn't supposed to happen._

_We were supposed to get away. We would have come back to steal Pana__._

"Let's not do anything rash," his master said, flicking out with a bit of magic to warn Fenris. A blood-curlding scream echoed through my eardrums as the lyrium reacted. Pana no longer trembled, no longer drew breath.

_We could have made it._

"F-F-" Even more tears fell into my hairline as I grasped at my reopened wounds on my shoulder and arms, trying to staunch the blood flow.

_It would have been beautiful._

"I am your master," he said, lacing his hands behind his back. "You may call me Master Danarius."

* * *

><p><strong>Yeeoooooouch. I'm sorry, please don't tear me a new one! I know some of you expected them to get away and wanted them to be happy-go-lucky out there on the run, but I'm staying true to my original outline, and that outline says ANGST.<strong>

**And before I get the reviews poking holes in the plots n stuff, here's what's happening in my head that might not have come across in the chapter/story: Hawke learned blood magic from one of the personal tomes Danarius gave her, and even though she refused to practice it, he made her study them so she could be more of an asset. It kind of paid off for him – Fenris was dying (not /dead, dead/ - she didn't spontaneously bring him back to life, she kind of just panicked when he was unresponsive), Hawke tried to save him from the lyrium but didn't have enough strength to on her own – so she inadvertently turned herself into a maleficar in order to change Fenris' body enough so it would naturally adapt to the lyrium that's eating him alive (which will have to be explained to her in the next chapter, because she really has only a faint idea of what she just did).**

**Phew. That's the short explanation – and always, if there are any questions (or if there is a glaring plot hole that you want to poke fun at), feel free to ask (or pick on me).**

I promise not to leave you guys hanging for long - the next chapter is mostly finished, and a future outtake (which many of you have been asking for) is going to possibly be in the works before the beginning of the next Act.


	31. 27 Rubbish

**A/N: Oh, noooo, nooo. Did you think we were done here? Noooooo. No. (no.)**

**This is me keeping you guys on your toes – I'm like a ninja! You'll never know when I'm going to update and then suddenlyBAM NEW CHAPTERAAHHH**

* * *

><p>"<em>Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead<em>." – Oscar Wilde

* * *

><p><strong>27. Rubbish<strong>

This cell was different – smaller. I couldn't stand up – I could barely stretch, and my hands couldn't fit between the bars. I stopped wondering if they were going to let me out after a few days – stopped caring if they would feed me.

I didn't stop begging silently that they would remove the dead body of Pana. She lay a few feet away, face down on the floor in a small puddle of stagnant blood. Her hair had lost its vibrant gold luster and her clothes had soaked in a lot of the crimson moisture; it made me sick to look at her wasted youth.

They knew what this would do to me – Pana was my little heart; to see her like this, broken, lifeless…knowing that I wouldn't hear her giggle, her sweet voice, that it was _all my fault_…I bit back a wretched sob.

_Just like I killed Bethany_, I thought, averting my eyes, having to look away from the outcome of my magic.

I struggled to imagine a different scenario, one where this wasn't my fault – but I couldn't; she had obviously cut herself on something and stumbled up the stairs to support me, and I had taken her life without a glance.

_The worst kind of monster doesn't recognize that it's a monster._

The worst part of it all was that, if I had a chance to do it over, I didn't know if I would do it again or not. Her sacrifice – her _murder _– saved my entire reason for existing in this time. I couldn't learn anything about Fenris if he died.

_If you must resort to rationalizing your decisions then you've already lost,_ my father's voice speaks, fresh as ever, in my mind.

_What did I even do?_ I didn't even remember the process my magic took – only my desperation to see his eyes open again. _Blood magic? I've never learned blood magic-_

_But I did_, I thought, brushing oily, unwashed bangs out of my eyes. _I read Danarius' own private notes on the craft – I learned it directly from him._

I closed my eyes and tried to snuff out the stench of rot in my nose. I would have come back for Pana – in two years, in twenty – in the future – it didn't matter, only that I would remember and come for her. I felt stupid, but I could always easily picture her working side-by-side with Anders in his clinic, healing the weak and down trod for no pay – but she would live with me, of course, and I would give her a grand bed to sleep on – but she never would; she would race to my room as soon as the lights turned out and crawl in bed with me to sleep as we always had, keeping each other warm on the biggest, softest bed she had ever seen-

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I cursed myself and the cruelty of Danarius. He could have stopped her – he could have stopped _me_. But he didn't care for my anguish. _He relishes in it._

I woke in my cage, my head and shoulder aching, wondering when I had finally fallen asleep; my cuts and gashes were finally healing, scarring over. I had barely given them more than a flashing thought. The memories of Fenris waking, Danarius' instructions, Pana's death – all were seared into the photo album of my mind.

_Were his memories truly gone? Had it been the lyrium, or the potion?_

_Did he give up on me? Did he fight?_

_Why did Pana approach me?_ I could imagine her seeing my distress, seeing Fenris on the table – knowing, even if I wouldn't accept it, that he was dying – so she had come over to aid me in any way that she could and I had -

I forced it all from my mind, forcing it all – the memories, the poisonous thoughts, the self loathing – to not matter anymore. _Mourn later; for now, I need to…_

I felt weak; I couldn't focus on particular thoughts. I had awoken feeling frozen – but now, I only felt numb.

Light blinded me, and despite the proof only a few feet away from me, I experienced a brief, terrible hope that it was Pana - only to be severely disappointed by the appearance of a woman and a mage light. She was tall for a woman; her hair was long, layered, and black. Her eyes were a glittering, serene blue and her face seemed elongated in the shadows as she sauntered forward.

Hadriana. She crouched down before my cramped cage, setting down a pail of murky water just on the outside edge.

"Good evening, Taris," she said, voice saccharine. "Are you having a nice time?"

My throat was hoarse, but I still spat out, "Danarius must think I'm still pretty useful if he's keeping me around." _But still making his gopher do the work._

Hadriana flashed me the sort of smile that swam with danger. "'Pretty useful' is certainly a nice phrase if you're trying to give yourself worth." She angled her head closer to the bars on the cage – I refused to meet her eye, this pet of Danarius. "You have been down here for quite a few days – would you like to inquire of your, ah," she chuckled ruefully, "beaux? I've been informed of everything, runaway – and I've seen the warrior, your precious _Fenris_ with my own eyes since the procedure, and my, is he a pretty elf."

Hatred leveled somewhere beneath my collarbone. I burned with anger – without the reattached collar on my neck, I would have engulfed her – along with this entire mansion - in flame.

"No? Nothing? Not the state of his well being, or what tortures he's being subjected to?" Hadriana readjusted her position beside my cage, sounding disappointed but looking rather smug. "What a terrible lover you make." She reached into her robes, pulling out a few scraps of cooked flesh and baring them before me on her palm. "Eat," she ordered, holding her fingers close enough to the cage so that I could reach and take the scraps.

I stared resolutely at the wall. Hadriana chuckled again, shaking the food in front of my face as if I were a mabari.

"What, not hungry? I find that hard to believe. You've been down here for a few days, you know." She twitched her fingers and the morsel burst into flame, the scent of seared meat filling the room as the scraps split into dust. My stomach growled and I thought I would die of humiliation.

"You're quite the stubborn one," she said. "You're only making this harder on yourself – you could have merely accepted Danarius' offer of apprenticeship when he was so generously inclined, but here we are, reduced to this rubbish state.

"It isn't so bad, you know, being apprenticed to Danarius." She grinned again – I noticed that her irises were so blue they seemed to engulf her pupils – the effect it accomplished made her seem almost feral. "Political protection, power, servants and slaves – and access to an unending tap of knowledge. What mage could ask for more? But all the better for me.

"I would, coincidentally, like to thank you on behalf of Master Danarius for assisting him in his venture to gain the perfect guard. His Fenris already knows his place and grows stronger in Danarius' name each day – the perfect example of a slave."

I gritted my teeth, trying to give no outward sign of my internal seething. _Pissant._

"Very well," Hadriana said after a few moments of silence, rising to her feet. "It seems you are resigned to being terrible company." She took a step towards the door, but paused. "Oh, right - I was ordered to tell you exactly what you accomplished in his laboratory the other night. I am unsure of whether or not you are aware, but you performed blood magic. Funny, isn't it? The holier-than-thou priss of a mage, too uptight to get a little blood on her hands used some blood magic. You tore through your own flesh, and when that wasn't enough, you took from the little elf girl that the healers were so fond of – Hannah, I think it was?"

My eyes flickered to his face and away, at my beloved little elf. She cut her eyes to her lifeless body.

"Do you plan to resurrect _her_, as well?" the woman asked with a chuckle. "You're an imbecile. You had all of that power, status – and threw it away for nothing. For a dream – fiction. Now, you have nothing – no lover, no little girl friend to get you out of this prison. You're worth nothing as a slave because of your stubbornness, but Danarius wants you around because he says you entertain him. But," she started, a colored brown lip rising in a mock smile, "do you want to hear the honest-to-the-Maker truth?" She crouched down again, leaning forward, a dark gleam in her eye. Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper - and I still refused to make eye contact. "You humiliated him by getting away so easily. Honestly, running away might have been the worst thing you could have ever done to yourself – and now you're _truly_ going to suffer." Naked glee clung to her voice, but I was resolute. She – that vile, _waste of air_ - would not get a reaction from me. "You should have killed yourself in that workroom, worm."

I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. It took a hell of a lot of effort to not try to claw out her eyes or yank her hair; I could almost feel my blood boiling, but I couldn't waste the energy it would take to resist her words.

_I can still destroy you in a one-on-one, fair fight. Forgetting that could kill you._

"As for Fenris – you accomplished something that no one else would have ever thought to do. When his life was escaping him, you used the blood magic –_ blood magic, can you believe? -_ as a tool to bind his very life essence to the lyrium. The lyrium now works as a self-sustaining battery, poisoning his body and keeping him alive even as it gives him miraculous powers – he's quite like a mage, in some aspects. It makes for a fascinating study. All of his memories are, quite unfortunately for you, gone." She stood again, having grown bored of her taunt sport. "I'm unsure of whether or not that particular detail is a fault of yours – but would that not be interesting, if it had been your magic that has obliterated his memory of you?"

I heard my teeth grind and steeled myself. She wouldn't plant that doubt in my mind – I knew that I would never, _never_ inflict that kind of magic upon Fenris. I had healed him – attached his life to the lyrium battery of his body – the lyrium itself, the pain inflicted – all a fault of Danarius.

I had used blood magic on Fenris. I had taken blood from myself and Pana, the defenseless elf girl – and I was a monster.

But I wasn't Danarius. I wasn't about to pretend that I was anything other than a monster.

_"Keep in mind that should my reminders prove useless, I will not fail to make you _amuse _me."_ I remembered the threatening conversation I had endured - my delicate, cherished flower crumbled to dust, my world shaken as I tried to hide my fury from him.

From Hadriana's words, it seemed as if Danarius were making good on his promise by keeping me offering a word of parting, Hadriana finally left me, once again, to my own devices.

**-R-**

I surrendered my valiant battle of abstaining from the water a few hours later. My throat was so parched, my bones so weak-

It tasted disgusting and wonderful, soothing my throat and tongue while leaving a foul taste in its wake. I downed it all, not allowing a single drop to fall to waste as I sucked on the cup through the thinly spaced bars of my cell, my fingers barely clasping onto the dingy tin.

When the empty container clanged onto the floor, I felt disgusted by myself for giving into Danarius. Pride had no place in my little cell; I reeked of unwashed skin, excrement and shame.

_He's the perfect slave._ The apprentice's words echoed in my head, their meaning lost with repetition.

I wondered if Danarius had left me down there to starve.

I shook my head, my eyes clenching in the dark as I tried to push those thoughts out of my head.

_Focus on what's important._

I'm still alive.

Fenris is still alive.

I killed Pana.

_A lie,_ I almost shouted back, avoiding the wave of guilt and self-loathing. It had to be a lie – the perfect lie for Danarius to break me like this.

_But you did,_ insisted the voice. _You killed her, remember?_

"No!"

I screamed, startling myself as the sudden sound reverberated across the metal. _I couldn't have – I couldn't – but Fenris -_

You decided for yourself that Fenris was more important,

reasoned the devil's advocate in my mind, _and you sacrificed her.  
><em>  
>My chest heaved, and I clutched it, trying to contain my renewed sobs.<p>

_Pana, oh Maker, I couldn't have -_

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of her as she had been – the beautiful golden hair, wide green eyes, dainty-pink lips and tiny hands – my sweet, baby Pana -

I couldn't bother to look at her anymore – but I couldn't get away from the smell.

_I was going to bake her more cookies than she could count,_ I thought, burying my head in my knees. _She would have never been hungry, never tired – she wouldn't even have to work, if she didn't want to._ But I knew that she would have, if it meant helping people.

_"I've never had a friend. I'm glad that I can be a good one."_

_I'm sorry, baby._

I shuddered a sigh, mourning my little mage – but I couldn't be lost to my depression. I had lost people before; the key to surviving was to move onward. _I wonder what Aveline would say if she could see me now._

_"Keep your chin up if you want to see the day through. Duty always comes first. Isabela is a whore."_

I sighed. _That's not exactly what Aveline would say, but it still helps._

It was time to make a plan – even if Fenris no longer remembered who I was.  
><em><br>He said he couldn't forget me._

_We need another escape plan,_ I thought, my mind sluggish. I moved slightly and bumped my knee on a metal bar, hissing. _I'll – I'll get out of here, find Fenris, and we'll run away again._

_How do I get out of here?_

I puzzled over that one for longer than I would ever be comfortable admitting – my mind slogged slowly through murky, half-thought thoughts. There was simply no way out, and no one coming for me.

_There is no one left to come._

I whimpered, curling in on myself in an attempt to get comfortable and warm. The remains of the burnt meat lay just outside the cage – I reached out a finger and tried to inch a charred lump a little closer to me, dragging it, smearing the floor with ash.

It tasted like coal and scraped my throat – I choked, spitting it out. My eyes watered; I viewed the meat from far within my body, my arms seemingly down a far tunnel from my vision as my hands worked to break the hard lump into a smaller piece.

I managed to get the two smaller pieces down, but they left a grainy residue on my tongue. After they were down, I slumped back over onto my side, my energy spent.

_No one is coming. I'm going to rot down here._

_What would Pop say, now?_

No glimmer of wisdom or insight came to me. I sighed, pushing the warm breath down to my knees. My robes were frayed and smelled like old blood.

"_Please don't take my sunshine away,_" I whispered with a harsh voice, trying to sing myself into lighter thoughts. I forced myself to not cry – I couldn't afford let the moisture escape.

No one came for at least another day, as far as I could tell – but when Hadriana finally did arrive once again, she brought another pail of water.

I ate her offered scraps of food directly from her hand – I couldn't help it, my mind left and my drive to survive took over. The ferocious howling from my stomach had to be quelled, the easiest solution being to give into Danarius.

The gamy shreds of meat were the most glorious things I had ever tasted.

Hadriana laughed heartily, patted my head, called me a good girl, and left.

I wanted to vomit, but instead, I drank a few sips of the precious, grimy water – none of it would go to waste, but I didn't want to drink it all up at once. I had no idea of knowing if or when Hadriana would return – if she would even bring another pail.

The next time she came down, she brought fruit with her. She fed me bits of fruit through the bars, telling me about Danarius' favorite slave, a seemingly hot topic around the mansion - Fenris. When I finished off everything she brought, she prompted me to thank her for being so generous.

"Thank you," I said bitterly, hating myself. _Anything to keep the food coming._

"Thank you…?" she prompted. "Come on, slave, you need to get into practice. Danarius won't stand for his slave to be disrespectful of him."

"Thank you, mistress."

Ages seemed to pass, punctuated by moments where the apprentice would visit. It was always the same – she brought food, water, and – though I was loathe to admitting it – extremely desired companionship, even though it was mocking and cruel.

She pet my hair, made me call her "mistress" – and I hated her, hated her fucking face, hated my reliance on her, hated her smug superiority, her tie to Danarius – I wanted to stick the tip of a dagger in her mouth and punch the hilt.

But, Maker, it felt so good to have someone there, another living, breathing person with body heat, someone to listen to, to help reassure myself that I was still alive and that I wasn't going mad.

"Be a good girl," Hadriana would order each time she left me.

I broke down and cried one night, thinking of Fenris – his dark hair, his smile, his hard eyes. I knew that he would eventually be kind of like the man I had known, but now – was there any scrap of that man left in the slave shell that Danarius had created?

_Why does this always happen?_

_Why does everyone I love have to die?_

**-R-**

I starved for contact – so much that I no longer despised eating out of Hadriana's palm like an animal.

One visit, days later – weeks? A month? It had been so long, and it was so dark - it wasn't Hadriana who came down the stairs – it was a cluster of guards, all at-the-ready, decked from head-to-toe in armor with their weapons raised.

One held the key to my prison – I lethargically watched as the cage door swung open. I inched out of the cell, unable to move in very wide motions do to the small space I had been confined do. My joints popped and snapped as I wiggled out.

As soon as my entire body cleared the opening, I was kicked forward – the breath left my lungs and I heaved, scrambling to grasp hold onto something to pull myself up, but then another kick landed from the other side.

"This is for Jes," spat one, kicking me in the collarbone with his leather boot. I worried that they would kill me there, snapping my bones and breaking me to pieces, but their leader eventually called them off.

"Boys, let's not kill Danarius' girl before he has a chance to decide what he wants with her," the leader ordered. He walked up to my head and squatted, making absolutely certain that I could hear his words. "The rules of the house have changed for you, as I'm sure you've guessed. You are no longer a guest here. You are a slave. By refraining from apprenticing yourself to Danarius, you have lost your status and your rights as a mage in his care.

"You are not to speak to his personal body guard, Fenris. We have all been instructed to beat you brutally if we catch you trying to communicate or even look at him funny. The duties you perform will be dictated by Danarius, and if he has none, by the staff. You are permitted to have one meal a day, to be taken after all of your duties have been performed. You are not a mage. You are not a woman. You are not even a full person. Are we clear?"

When I didn't respond, he grasped my hair, wrenching me upright to look me in the eye. "I said, "are we clear?""

"Yes, ser," I hissed, and he let me go – my head snapped back down and I collapsed, too weak and frail after my extended, cramped stay in confinement.

"Report to the slave washrooms and get that shit cleaned off of you." They all meandered their way back towards the stairs, leaving me lying in the cold.

I tried to force myself to my feet, but my legs were unsteady. I had to crawl up the stairs to make it to the top – and when I finally did make it, it took all of my power to thrust myself onto shaky, unused appendages. I was immeasurably grateful that I wouldn't have to look or smell the decaying Pana anymore – I couldn't stomach the heartache.

_Be a good slave and don't talk to Fenris. Why does this feel so familiar?_

It took me a few tries to find the room that the slaves used for bathing – I had never had a need to traverse this side of the mansion before, but since I had worked in Fausta's mansion, it was simple enough for me to find – I could spy all the well-traveled, unseen routes of the servants. I stripped carefully, not wanting to rip apart whatever bit of robes I had remaining. The stagnant water was cold, but I trembled through it resolutely, washing grime off of every inch of me, noting the bruises and closing wounds that had been hidden by my ragged clothes.

I already missed my luxury room upstairs – but I certainly didn't want to be caught in it now. I felt the unseen eyes everywhere, documenting my movements – was under no illusions; Danarius didn't need me as a slave. He wanted me as an example, a trophy – a punch line to a bad joke.

"Slave." Or, perhaps, the eyes weren't quite so unseen. "Fancy seeing you here." I turned sharply to view Hadriana, her bright eyes cold as she stepped forward onto the stone floor of the small bathing room.

"Hadriana," I acknowledged her, not giving away any discomfort and trying to retain some normalcy. Electricity suddenly shot through my body and I abruptly lay on the floor, gasping and trembling.

"That's _Mistress_ Hadriana, to you." She stalked swiftly forward, and I tried to rise to my feet only to be knocked over again by a swift kick to the ribs. Robes swirled, the sound of cloth whipping around echoed in the room. "You are _nothing_ here, slave. As powerful as you may be, you are reduced to dust before me – a rightful place for the likes of you."

I grunted, my head swimming as I tried to sit up. She knelt above me and grabbed onto my shoulder-length hair, bowing my back, forcing me to look her in the eyes.

"I will make you pay for all of the humiliation you bestowed upon me," she hissed over my head – before the fist in my hair erupted into flames, scorching my scalp. I cried out and shook myself away, landing on the floor a few feet from her – she just laughed and stood again as I struggled to put the fire out before permanent damage was done.

"Not so powerful with that magebane collar on, are you?" she crooned, stepping around me. I glared up from the floor, my singed bangs hindering my eyesight. "It kills you, doesn't it? Knowing that you can't change your position, now. Knowing that you'll never be able to overcome this. _That you can't beat me anymore._"

She took a deep breath, calming herself, soothing the rage in her voice. Her cool, appraising eyes ran down my body and I fought the urge to sneer and fire off a smart comment at the look, despite the small tremor of trepidation somewhere inside me. She cleared her throat and turned away from me, back towards and then out the door. "Clean yourself up good, pet. Can't have Master Danarius' possessions smelling like piss."

I wanted to burn her alive. The flesh on the back of my skull was tender and felt gritty with a bit of ash – I was relieved in a bitter sort of way that she didn't allow the flames to spread to the rest of my body, confining them to my head. Not all of my hair was gone – scorched short where it wasn't burned off, shorn and ragged, but remaining in small vestiges.

I sighed and set to cleaning it – carefully - cringing from the tenderness.

I wasn't about to let Hadriana beat me, and I couldn't possibly be held in any more contempt than I already was. I had instinctively hated her since that first fight all those months ago, a firm and clear image of her planted and spawned in my mind from that encounter.

Hadriana was a bitter, cruel woman – and I had no doubt that she would send me back to the cage if I didn't accept her punishments. Fear fluttered in my belly and my face burned with embarrassment because of that fear. Danarius seemed to wish to pretend that I didn't exist – which was more than fine by me. I'd take his lackey over him any day – as much as I had defied him, I was lucky that this was the worst of the treatment I would receive. I splashed my face with the cool water, contemplating my next move.

_It's not too late._ I stubbornly refused to give up. _I'm still breathing, still standing. Maybe Fenris hasn't been brainwashed into silently serving Danarius' every command, yet, and I can convince him to disobey and run away with me again._

My clothes felt gritty in my hands – so I set to cleansing them as simply as I could. The morning was only beginning and I had time to let them dry. I hung them over the door and paced the room, thinking hard.

_I could attack the barracks of the guards and steal a few weapons._

Only a few guards actually lived at the estate – others were hired temporarily as needed or desired. The plan of mine had potential, but without my magic, any plan was handicapped.

_I could grab a sharp tool and assassinate Danarius._

I certainly was angry enough to murder the bastard, but the potential of the plan was hindered when I realized that I may end up having to fight Fenris – something that I absolutely wanted to avoid. _But he can't be fully trained, yet._ If his memories were gone, did that mean that he had to be trained all over again? He told me once that he didn't remember anything beyond the markings – did that just mean people, places, connotative connections in his mind? Was muscle memory still there? Or did he have to relearn everything – fighting styles, techniques, words…

I doubted Danarius would have use for that sort of guard. He was surely patient, but he would have no use for an active guard with only a few weeks of training under his belt.

_He's certainly still being trained, somewhere…if not to fight, then to be a good pet._ I felt sick to my stomach. _It must be so much easier to enslave a man who doesn't remember being free._

There was a definite reason why I had never taken the route of "just kill the bastard". It would solve the immediate problems if I could actually do it – but then I would certainly be tried if not outright killed for murder and would be undoubtedly hunted if I somehow escaped. But I would have to take on Danarius one-on-one before any of that if I couldn't make the assassination seamless and in one shot – and I was not an assassin, and though I knew my way around a blade, I was no warrior.

Fighting Danarius would be no light matter, to say the least.

I ran a hand over my shorn hair, rueful at its state – Fenris had once said he liked my hair long, and what of this? Burnt to a crisp and uneven?

I sighed at myself – this was no time to be vain.

_I could start a revolt – incite the slaves to help me burn the manor down. In the confusion, it would be easy to grab Fenris and just…slip away…_

I favored that idea, weighing the option heavily in my mind. It would take a lot of swaying – most slaves didn't even realize that revolting was an option. It would take months of preparation and scheming, but it could work as long as no one informed a superior.

I was loathe to be caught in only my skin a second time, so I donned my ripped, stained robes again, despite the fact that they were still damp. I was too excited to keep dawdling around in the bathing room, anyway. I threw on the moist rags and walked out, meandering around until I found a servant to direct me.

He was short and elven, with proud markings of the Dalish curling around his left eye and impossibly black hair. I was surprised to see an elf like him in the Imperium. I approached him quickly to initiate conversation, wondering if he could possibly be my first target for convincing.

"Good morn," I said pleasantly, my voice a little scratchy. "Could you-" and that was all I could get out before I was back handed across the face.

I clutched my stinging cheek, my jaw dropped in surprise.

"Do not speak unless directed," the elf said, voice smooth, as if he hadn't just backhanded the shit out of me. "Grab a bucket," he directed, pointing at a hidden closet on the far side of the hallway, "and clean the anteroom."

"I – " I began to question, but held my tongue. This elf obviously didn't operate in a way that I was accustomed to; I felt an inkling of anger within myself when I spotted his raised eyebrow.

I bowed in acquiescence and set to work. _That revolt might be a bit more problematic than I thought._

**-R-**

At least I was used to the work assigned to me. I was on my knees scrubbing for the entire damn day. People would walk through and truck more dirt onto the marble and I would sigh and scrub again.

_This is bullshit. I was an apprentice here – I am a full-fledged mage, but I try to save one man and I'm reduced to this?_

Danarius didn't seem like the type of person to let things go easily. He was greedy and materialistic, and I wanted him to die.

It was well into the setting of the sun when I was given my next objective – scrub the stairs.

My hands ached with a bone-deep stiffness that came with using them for this kind of continuous work; my shoulders were sore from hunching over and my knees popped whenever I moved from one position to another.

I was on a twenty-odd stair when a cluster of guards ascended, stomping all over my hard work.

"Out of the way," one barked as they approached – and as I shifted to stand, one lashed out a kick that sent me sprawling down the stairs.

I shrieked as I landed hard on my shoulders, grazed my head, busted my elbows. I only made it three quarters of the way down before my momentum slowed. I grunted in pain, clutching my head, feeling the bruises blossom as my fingers gripped the hard edge of a stair, the only thing that had completely halted my descent – and heard the amused laughter of the guards as they continued along their merry way.

I checked first for blood - and then for anything broken – and finally for the aches that would last a while.

All in all, nothing serious seemed to be wrong. But everything hurt like a bitch and I still had to continue my work with soreness on top of soreness.

_I'm going to burn this place to the ground._

It felt like forever until I reached the top – the moon was high and I was worn in a way that I hadn't felt since Kirkwall. Not since the long nights of fighting thugs in dark alleys and blistering days of beating bandits at the coast - but I had a reliable healer back then, and a team to have my back.

Here, I had no one.

* * *

><p><em>Do you have any shamefully bad puns to share?<em>


	32. 28 Solipsism

**This gets dark. Darkity dark. Not the brooding, self-abusive dark – not quite that dark – but herein (and in the next chapter) lies torture and insinuations of rape. You have been cautioned! CAUTIONED I SAY**

**Also: BOOM, double post! CAN'T TOUCH DIS DAAANANANA**

* * *

><p>"<em>Talkin' to herself, there's no one else who needs to know<br>She tells herself, oh  
>Memories back when she was bold and strong<br>And waiting for the world to come along  
>Swears she knew it, now she swears he's gone<em>

_She lies and says she's in love with him, can't find a better man_  
><em>She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can't find a better man<em>  
><em>She lies and says she still loves him, can't find a better man<em>  
><em>She dreams in colour, she dreams in red, can't find a better man<em>  
><em>Can't find a better man<em>  
><em>Can't find a better man<em>  
><em>Yeah."<em>

Betterman, Pearl Jam

* * *

><p><strong>28. Solipsism<strong>

No one would listen to me – not even the slaves. After my late meal, I was sent to a quiet room full of snoring people, slaves and servants alike.

One or two couldn't find sleep and I tried making easy, quiet conversation – only to have them turn their backs on me in aggravation. My lips pressed together, but I wouldn't lose hope so easily – to do so would be to sign the death warrant of Marian Hawke.

A few hours later, I tried again to initiate conversation only to spark hated glares from those around me. It wasn't as if they were not allowed to speak to each other – they frequently chatted or relayed information while between jobs – I _heard_ them. They were consciously choosing to collectively ignore me – and that shouldn't have stung, but it did.

I wasn't allowed to elbow my way into their lives.

I was given my chores for the day, but I had a personal job for myself: get someone to respond to me.

I tried with the old woman who carried a load of laundry out back, all by herself – I grabbed half of it in an attempt to be helpful and she lunged forward, knocking me down before scurrying out.

Feeling depressed, I tried once again on a middle-aged elf who sat polishing Danarius' silverware. I carried his finished work to the designated places assigned for the utensils, only for him to bark at me to be gone, with a few choice words inserted.

My final attempt was on a young boy who dusted the hallways. I offered, with a cheerful mask, to help him reach the top ornaments – his face paled, and a second later he was out of sight.

I sighed, rubbing at my temples after another long day of failing to get my last ditch plan to work.

I walked towards the kitchen where the slaves' meals were prepared, only to stumble and fall directly onto my face. I felt beaten, worn, and deeply upset – but I didn't need anyone else to know that, least of all the masters of the mansion.

So I heaved a great, lengthy breath and repositioned my hands to force myself back up again – and a steel boot crunched on top of my hand, sending a splintering pain up my wrist. I couldn't help it, I screamed in pain, my vision stark white for a few heartbeats as the boot twisted, grinding my bones into the marble floor.

"Ah, sorry, woman," the man above me said, finally relieving me of the burden. "Try not to be so clumsy; it's hard to move around when you slaves fall in the way." I curled my hand into my chest in pain, shielding it with my right one.

"_Shit_," I cursed, tears in my eye when I grazed a finger against my collarbone. It was definitely broken – _crushed_. "_Fuck."_

The pain kept me panting on the floor for a few more minutes – I had no preparation for the injury, no adrenaline of combat, nothing to dull the pain. I felt every tremor, every crack quite clearly – I almost fainted from the shrieking pain flowing up my arm.

I knew absolutely, beyond a glimmer of doubt that it was broken – and that no one would help me to heal it. I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes and used my right hand to raise myself onto my feet, protecting my broken left hand. I was only grateful that it wasn't my dominant hand or I would be running into more obstacles.

I didn't know much about fixing broken appendages, but I knew that I should wrap it with something, at the very least. I didn't know how to accomplish that with only one hand – but I ripped a part of my tattered robes off, cringing and holding in squeals when I tried wrapping my broken fingers.

It was a colossal failure; the wrapping was sloppy, my hand hurt like a bitch and I was extremely red-faced, but I couldn't be caught as I was – just sitting around. What would happen if I were caught in such a position had been made abundantly clear to me, so I hesitantly made my way to my next chore.

**-S-**

I felt like dying. The cage hadn't been as horrible as this – lying awake at night, trying not to make noise from the pain. My hand swelled and I ached from head to toe, covered in deep, ugly looking bruises. My old wounds still needed to be properly disinfected and to make it worse, the guards had continued verbally harassing me and the other servants and slaves had continued studiously ignoring my presence.

I had no idea what to do.

I didn't realize I had been scratching at my mage collar with my operating hand until someone kicked me for making too much noise; I cringed away from the contact, shielding my injured hand, curling in on myself in the dark.

My right hand was a little slippery – I turned it over in the dim light, noticing that my fingers were bleeding beneath the nails from scraping at my collar. I didn't know how I didn't notice how it happened; the desperation began to creep in tight, threatening to choke me with despair.

_I need to stop wasting time_, I told myself resolutely. No one here was going to listen to me – if I was going to find Fenris and get him out in time, it had to be _now_.

So I rolled shakily to my feet – sleep wouldn't find me here. I left the room quietly, my hands trembling maddeningly and my heart beating fast.

Now, where would he be? I peered around corners, nervous about guards or Hadriana – they had both proven that they weren't afraid of exerting rights over me, and I wished to avoid them.

I checked the bathrooms, the other slave bedrooms, but no – Fenris was more special than that; Danarius wanted to intimidate everyone with his toy, his prized guard – he wouldn't let him mingle with other common slaves. Few other people were awake, tending to lanterns and wax build ups and odd chores that could only be done at a late hour. I paid them no mind, though their glares bit through my back.

I ran down a hall after hearing the approach of men behind me – it seemed perfectly natural to duck out of the way of confrontation, to cower in a closet until they had passed me by. I shuddered and left the closet, growing more exhausted by the step but doggedly pursuing my objective. I ran a shaky hand over the back of my scorched head, exhaling before hesitantly heading for the stairs.

_Would he be at Danarius' side?_

I bit my lip and quickly ascended, not wanting to be caught on the stairs again. I had to keep looking – I had to at least see him, speak to him – fuck everyone else, I needed _Fenris_.

I made it to the second floor and quietly made my way to Danarius' study, sticking close to the walls, in the shadows of the lamps. I knew it was futile if anyone else decided to waltz down the hallway, but it comforted me to know I wasn't making myself glaringly apparent.

The study was empty; I swallowed and turned down the next hallway, away from the cluster of empty guest rooms and libraries and towards the parts of the mansion that I had never traveled.

A door closed behind me and I jumped, whirling around – but it was only a servant carrying a basin from a room, cowering away, nearly running for the servant stairs. I felt fear, but more than that a damned curiosity – and then he was in the newly opened doorway, glaring after the servant, expression livid.

For a moment, I remained speechless, stunned by his presence – he looked so…it had truly been a while since I had marveled at a Fenris with lyrium tattoos; the last time I had seen him had been to traumatic for me to focus, but now I couldn't help but gape at his bared chest, lined so elegantly with the white engravings. His hair seemed to be growing back white at the roots, so stark compared to its previous color – and seeing him there, looking so fierce and whole and _not dead_, I couldn't help but gasp his name.

"_Fenris_."

Blazing emerald slid to view me and I watched him tense, his muscles growing taut; his eyes narrowed, betraying his confusion, and I raised my good hand out to him, my mouth opening to speak -

But I was barreled over by magic and unconscious before I hit the floor.

**-S-**

"When will you learn?" the woman said, clicking her tongue at me in mock disappointment. She couldn't hide the glee in her voice; I knew how vindictive Hadriana could be. "You were given a few simple rules, and you break the most dire one almost as soon as you're released! What kind of slave are you?"

_A bad one, I've been told._ I slumped over in my hard-backed chair, my hand protesting against the cuff that confined it.

"We're going to fix that mouth of yours," she said helpfully, rummaging around on a bag on a nearby table. "Before Danarius is forced to execute you. You don't want to die, do you?" A glimmer of excitement twinkled in her eye as she turned to me. "It would certainly be a shame – I wouldn't get to play with you anymore."

I ignored her, feeling empty inside. She threaded a needle, told me to be still and grasped onto my neck with her free hand.

I grunted and shrieked when the needle began to pierce the skin of my lips, but I couldn't focus on what was happening – I viewed it all from somewhere far away, somewhere beyond my body. My mind lingered elsewhere, on the green, angered eyes that had viewed me in the hallway and the damage that seeing them had done to me.

He hadn't recognized me at all.

Fenris had been there; his eyes were the same, his lips the same, his skin the same.

But Fenris was gone. It was like looking at a shadow, a mere echo of his former self. I choked on bile, seeing Fenris without...without _life_, without _Fenris_.

Of course he wouldn't recognize me.

The tremendous weight of what had happened to him pressed upon me, threatening to choke and suffocate with its dark energy. Danarius had ripped every part of him away, stripped him to the very bare minimum of a being and then demanded he remain whole and functional.

It was sick and monstrous.

A burning, righteous anger festered in my blood, ripping itself through my chest. I felt blistered by my hatred for the despised man, the putrid emotion bubbling beneath the surface of my skin.

_Fenris._

_Will you ever escape with me again?_

When Hadriana was done, blood dribbled down my chin and my lips burned and ached – but she had gotten her wish; I couldn't open my damn mouth anymore.

Danarius didn't want me distracting Fenris. He knew that if I could speak to him again, gain his trust, that we would both slip from his grasp again soon enough.

That realization should have given me hope – Danarius still considered me to be a threat - but my hope was quickly draining, bleeding out of me with every torture.

Fenris had done more damage with his gaze than anyone else had inflicted upon me since we had been recaptured.

I vaguely noticed as Hadriana gestured to someone beside her – a servant? – and the woman produced a long, sharp piece of metal, offering it to her mistress. I stared, noting the crooked smirk on Hadriana's face as she brought the thin, pointy rod closer for me to inspect.

"Now," she said, wiping a bit of sweat off of her cheek. "Let's get to the real business."

She immediately brought up her small spear – approximately three inches long and thinly tapered - from this angle, it looked more like an extremely long, sinister looking needle than anything else. She placed a hand on my collar, steadying herself and lining up her trajectory, the damned smirk on her face growing the closer the needle came to my skin.

Using the tool, she brushed aside my clothing, scratching the skin at the base of my neck. My body reflexively jerked at the feeling, but she held me still, the point digging into the skin at the base of my neck.

I didn't get a single moment to prepare myself – she speared me, shoving the needle completely into my skin near the top of my spine – I couldn't scream, couldn't open my mouth, but my eyes watered and a strangled sound forced its way out of my throat. I tried to scream again as the needle scraped bone when I tilted, hitting nerves and flaying me internally.

"There we go," she said, pleased with herself. "How does that feel?"

I shut my eyes, had to concentrate past the pain – my face felt wet, from sweat – the blood – tears? After a few moments, the pain had dulled to something manageable – I no longer wanted to scream or immediately rip it out – because I knew I would do more damage in doing so.

"Wonderful," she said, taking my silence for an affirmative. "Time for the others." Her servant offered another, shorter needle – less than a half inch long - and I started screaming as well as I could again, helpless to the assault.

This needle was for my prostrated hand – in particular, my index finger. My arms were tied to the chair, and I could hardly move more than the tips of my fingers – but that didn't matter; Hadriana laid out my index finger and prodded the tip of the needle until it was just under my fingernail.

I screamed impossibly louder and longer on that first nail – it peeled slightly off my skin and then was forced under, pushed until it almost hit my knuckle, until it could no longer be grasped and pulled out, flush with the skin at the tip of my finger.

My screams had almost completely died down by the time my tenth digit was violated – my head hung and I was seeing black spots.

Hadriana stepped back, admiring her work in its entire splendor – from my sewed mouth to my bleeding fingers – and smiled.

"Why did you stop screaming, Taris?" she asked innocently. "Didn't it hurt?"

I had no response other than a pitiful, choked sob.

"We can't have this," she said with a tsk – and lightning shot from her fingers and into mine, latching on the metal inside of me and setting every nerve ending into a spiraling, stabbing pain that arched my back, forced screams up my throat.

My body couldn't take any more of the agony – my vision went white with pain and I fell unconscious, thankful for the quick, graceless reprieve from the torture.

* * *

><p><em>Is it safe to say…uh, OUCH.<em>


	33. 29 Split

**I have some bad puns for you (note: I'm not claiming to have come up with all of these. Just sharing so everyone else can share in my shame.):**

**What do you call a handsome potato? A** _**spud**_.

**What store does Dorian Gray shop at?****_Forever 21_.**

**What is Fenris' favorite show? ****_Firefly_. Get it? Because…he…glows….. –hangsheadinshame-**

**How do you organize a party in space? You ****_planet_.**

**What is attached to Fenris' hand? His Fen-****_wrist._**

**What's a pirate's favorite letter? ****_Arrrrr!_**

**How about that party that Thor's brother threw a while back? It seemed pretty ****_Low-key._**

**What do they call an owl with a doctorate? Doctor ****_Hoo_.**

**ksdhgkjfhb I have to stop. Here. Take your damn chapter and leave me to my embarrassment! AWAAAY STOP STARING I CAN FEEL THE JUDGMENTJKREHEH I'M SORRY**

**This entire chapter deserves a big fat warning for abuse: if you're not into that thing (or even if it gets a little boring and you just want to skip to the next chapter because FUCK IT), I'll post a little summary of what all happened in vague little details at the bottom. **

**WARNING****: Abuse and rape therein. There will be a small summary at the bottom giving **_**vague details**_**in case you don't want to read**** (so don't jump ahead if you DO, because, uh, spoilers) what happens but don't want to fall behind on what's going on.**

* * *

><p><em>While we're on the subject<em>  
><em>Could we change the subject now?<em>  
><em>I was knocking on your ear's door, but you were always out<em>  
><em>Looking towards the future<em>  
><em>We were begging for the past<em>  
><em>Well, we knew we had the good things<em>  
><em>But those never seemed to last.<em>  
><em>Oh, please just last.<em>

_Everyone's unhappy_  
><em>Everyone's ashamed<em>  
><em>Well, we all just got caught looking<em>  
><em>At somebody else's page<em>  
><em>Well, nothing ever went<em>  
><em>Quite exactly as we planned<em>  
><em>Our ideas held no water<em>  
><em>But we used them like a dam.<em>

"Missed the Boat," Modest Mouse

* * *

><p><strong>29. Split<strong>

Nourishment came in the form of liquid sucked from a tube. I had to painfully wiggle a thin pipe through the stitches on my mouth and suck, hoping not to starve. Every meal was tasteless sludge, depressing and questionable.

People gossiped all over the mansion and I could listen, now, as I could never repeat the words – which were mostly about Fenris and his prominent presence at the master's side. Rumors flew about how brutal he was in his punishments, how insane his new powers were – how he had just ripped a man's lung out the day before during a training session.

I missed him following me around as I worked, sneaking up on me with the pretense of guard duty. I missed a lot of things. He never looked in my direction when he passed, even though I always looked in his.

Even though Fenris didn't notice, I knew Danarius was aware of my longing and despair. I saw the smirk when he noticed me in the room; noticed how he made certain that Fenris was always positioned clearly in my view, taunting me, lording his success.

I cried myself to sleep at night, thinking about those eyes – my lover, the man who had pledged himself to me, fought with me, prepared to die for me no longer knew I existed. I had failed him in the most ultimate, final way I could ever imagine. _I promised to save him_.

He had promised to remember me, but it was my failure that caused him to forget.

_If we had moved faster…been stronger…_

I grew tempted to cut the strings at my lips, but I didn't want to fathom the consequences of such an action. I felt sick often, drinking my meals out of a tube – and I fought the sickness, the uneasy stomach, the futile feeling of surrendering to anything at all.

I couldn't use my fingers; the pain made them shake whenever I touched anything. Pus began forming underneath one nail; I drained it one night, but the needle itself wouldn't come out and I knew it would never be the same again. I could tell that Hadriana enjoyed toying with me by using my ten piercings as conductors for electrical magic, but she frequently tried out different forms of abuse, as well – she would freeze my feet until they turned blue and numb for hours afterward and I would be rendered incapable of moving more than a few paces at a time.

Whenever I found myself alone, I was assaulted – by Hadriana, guards, other slaves or servants, visitors. Someone inevitably found me; I stayed away from dark corners, from paths populated by many people. I was a favorite toy of the guards – Hadriana had given them permission to abuse me, even going so far as to offer rewards for most creative cruelty if they shared it with her. They approached me unabashedly – groping, squeezing my broken hand, prodding, assaulting until gargled screams issued from me, filling the mansion.

No one came to my rescue; I was raped, tortured, beaten, spit upon. They laughed, called me ugly and yanked on my hair as I was violated and I couldn't do anything but take the abuse and hope it would be over soon.

Hadriana liked to watch the encounters personally; she laughed and instructed my assailants, telling them where to hurt, how to demean me.

I hated her – her laugh, her fucking smirk, the devil in her eyes, hated the way I _knew_ I could beat her if my body would just-

Even the slaves and servants who had no intention of torturing me treated me poorly, tripping me and pushing me aside like a nuisance. Every order I was given was a joke, meant to put me in harm's way – and I knew it.

Visitors who came to visit Danarius had familiar faces and grins that either lit or dropped when they witnessed the state I had been reduced to – some thought it was fitting and fun, for I had been a snotty apprentice, others thought it inhumane and kept their tongues to themselves whilst in the mansion.

I saw Fenris all the time, now, as if the dam suddenly broke after that first, brief meeting and he was all over the place. A tease, since I could no longer speak to him even if I wished to.

I hated how timid I had become, cowering away from every guard who came near. I couldn't fight anyone off in my position, hurriedly moving from destination to destination, trying to not be noticed.

I seemed to be Hadriana's new sport. A few weeks after my mouth had been sewed shut, she informed the chefs that I was not to be fed.

"I want you to beg straight at my feet for your meals," she said, tapping my chin, white teeth flashing. I felt haggard under her gaze, staring down at my wasted food that she had cruelly denied me, the only meal I was allowed per day. "That will please me, slave."

I suddenly had a reliance on Hadriana – and she liked listening to me try to beg with a sewn shut mouth. I didn't start begging until a few days later, when the hunger and thirst grew too much to bear; I went directly to her room and knelt at her desk side. She hardly paid me any mind while she studied and copied notes; I made a few low noises in my throat and bowed until my forehead touched the floor, the sound of my stomach rumbles filling the otherwise silent room.

I knew she would be smirking – she liked the control she had over the slaves, especially me, and my need pleased her.

She let me eat occasionally – and it would be just enough to keep me alive.

Fenris now had his terrifying, spiked armor – it felt wrong, but I experienced a sprinkle of fear each time I encountered him. Intimidating and heeled to Danarius wherever he went – the perfect guard. His tattoos had healed, the lyrium appearing to be working as it should, but he still seemed pained – I couldn't tell if it was because of the tattoos or because of whatever Danarius was doing to him when they were in private. I was horrified at the thought of Hadriana getting her claws into him, but I knew that Danarius wouldn't let his guard sustain permanent damage; but that wouldn't stop the worry from seizing me. Every step he took already looked pained; whenever Danarius happened to touch him, I could almost feel the flash of rigidity that swept just below his skin. I felt like I knew how he felt, to experience the constant pain every waking moment, the tense fear of _when will the pain come?_

It made my heart ache. I wanted my magic – I wanted to make him feel better; I wanted to hold him at night again, to make love with him in the woods, to feel his heart beating with mine as we drifted into slumber.

But we would never be like that again – he would never let me that close to him; not after this.

The lack of food made me weak; I found myself begging for it more and more often as the days blended together; whenever company was brought over, I was shunned to the back rooms, forgotten and ignored – but I preferred the silence. Fenris was showcased in all of his glory at parties; he was fondled, but only sparingly, as he looked feral and was prone to fits of temper where people would have their organs rearranged – especially in training matches.

He was truly tested out a few weeks later when an assassin came for Danarius in the night – blood spattered the curtains in his room and a jumbled mass of insides littered the floor. I watched the servants carrying them out in buckets, disgusted and disturbed looks on their faces.

The worst things always happened at night; the humiliations, the attacks – it was a game to them, the masters, passing me around like a toy to be played with. I was held down and whipped to help Danarius blow off steam; Hadriana liked to see me abused, used by multiple men at once who kicked me when I stopped crying at the horrifying intrusions – and Hadriana looked on, laughing as I was demeaned. I could never fight back, never escape – I was forced to accept everything they gave, time and again.

I stopped trying to find a way to escape, to get Fenris to notice me. He had his own world to worry about.

The worst times were when Hadriana learned a new trick – she cornered me to try them out, marveling at her own skill. She would scream in insane laughter, trying out her newly mastered trick for her entertainment, delighting at my writhing. It felt as if my bone marrow was being lit on fire and carved out with paring knives; I screamed and kicked and cried hot tears, but the spiteful girl did not let up her torture until her morbid sadism had been fully sated by me.

Even through the worst of her trials, I was still grateful.

_Better me than Fenris._

It was the only consolation – that when she was busy with me, she wouldn't have a chance to hurt Fenris.

I became consumed with just surviving – I thought that if I could last another day, another week, another year, maybe someone would come – something would happen. Didn't I have friends, once?

I used to think about them all the time.

My memories would haunt me, showing whenever I least expected them – memories of Kirkwall, of friends, of my family. I normally welcomed them.

I couldn't remember their faces very well, though.

They slowly leaked from my mind, dripping and inconsequential, drifting just out of my mental reach.

Isabela, a voluptuous mass of brown and gold – or white? – or thin, lithe, green – no, Merrill – no, Sebastian, the brogue, beardless and short, with chains and magic and the Templar and dark –

I cried many times, frustrated with my lack of ability to call them to me. Was this some trick of the - of _Danarius'_ – design? To torture me?

No, I couldn't fathom him torturing me any more than he already had. Could they not see that I had suffered enough? That looking into the face of the man I loved and seeing no recognition was _enough_ to break me into pieces? How seeing horror, contempt, and even putrid distaste on his face ruined me?

If they did not see, surely they must be blind.

I could not even speak anymore, to tell him that I loved him.

Life was cruel.

I heard someone call out from a few doors away from where I walked; I didn't stop. Small, pattering footsteps answered in my stead. "Get in the kitchen; Papa needs your help."

"Yes, Mama," answered a tiny voice. I inhaled shakily, shutting my eyes against the overflow of memories.

_You're quite the proficient healer._

Everything is okay, Sweetie.

I shook away the pain; I had enough of it without remembering my sins so accurately, but I couldn't stop the way I doubled over as if punched in the stomach.

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.  
><em>  
>My leg had been busted sometime along the way; a limp developed. It worried me that I couldn't remember it happening, but I ached in so many ways in many different places, it was hard to recall any certain injury.<p>

I overheard Danarius talking about me to other mages; they were remarking on my appearance, my status, how I deserved it all for being a thief. Danarius smiled at me, his eyes cold and superior; I had to bow my head, couldn't look him in the eye like I once could.

I couldn't meet anyone's eyes anymore – couldn't bear the pressure of their gaze weighing down mine.

I stumbled by a room where Fenris was being held in a small cage as I felt my way around the mansion at night – I would never risk carrying a candle, sending out my position like a beacon. I could barely make out the cage but could see him by the subtle moonlight streaming through the window, lighting his skin. I stared at him for a while, remarking at how familiar it all looked - hadn't I been in that very position? I could hear his stomach growling from here, could see his bruises even in the dark – but I wouldn't dare go to him, shut up in the room. Hadriana's giggles could be heard all the way down the hallway as she held his food just out of reach, waiting for him to give in and beg; he looked so uncomfortable, his gangly limbs forced into the small cage as he was tormented with what he couldn't have.

I was intensely familiar with the predicament – and also with Fenris' innate pride.

I felt hard inside; she used the same spells that she had practiced on me, expertly drawing screams from him as well as igniting his brands – I couldn't take it, couldn't take the agonized voice of the man I loved as he was tortured – I ran.

I only had enemies, even of myself; I hated every failure, cursed every ignorant decision I had ever made.

I had never felt so utterly alone – I could hardly imagine what Fenris felt; he didn't even have memories to cling to.

But was that better, or worse? I could fully realize how everything had been taken from me, all the greatness, the power – Fenris didn't know what he had lost. I was reminded daily of every mistake I had made.

I knew the realities that lurked around the corner. One false move and I would be sent back to the cage or punished; I didn't know which would be the worse hell. I could no longer stand the dark; I fluttered around any source of light like a moth, clinging to any shred I could get. I hugged myself in an attempt to imitate contact; I could no longer stand to be alone, even if I had to be in the presence of Hadriana or Danarius.

I felt like the only person alive, the way I was ignored by everyone who didn't aim to hurt me.

My clothes were frequently stripped off; I once caught Master watching as my thighs were carved up with daggers, a game of the guards trying to connect the freckles they found there. A stitch in my lips was ripped out, shredding the skin – that had earned one of my shrillest screams yet.

Those pains all amounted to nothing compared to what the master could do with just a few words – I made the mistake of walking too close to his study one day and he caught me, called me into the room. My eyes remained constantly on the floor; I felt weak, and not just in a physical sense.

"Punish her," was all he had to say, the hint of a smile around his lips. I glanced up, brow furrowing.

I didn't have the gall to question his decision. If the master thought I should be punished, then I would surely be punished regardless of what I had to say.

I could not even complete half a thought before a fist flew into my jaw, knocking me to the floor. Sharp pain lanced through my mouth, and I realized I had bitten through my tongue. Tears stung my eyes as I felt my cheek swelling from the impact of the fist.

"Try not to kill her, my little wolf," said the master endearingly as he returned to his papers, forgetting us. I felt a trickled of something fall from my cheek – blood? Tears? Sweat? I could not tell – in the next instance, a swift kick landed between my ribs.

I choked, fighting to breathe in as more kicks landed on me – my head, my chest, my stomach, my groin. They did not let up; Fenris was merciless in his deliverance of false justice.

I had not the power to scream or cry out.

I focused on breathing.

A sharp kick found my face; I felt the tender flesh swelling and blossoming red and blue as I lay on the ground.I knew that he did not understand what he was doing, or why; on some level, I could grasp that concept.

On the ground level, where I was being beaten within an inch of my life, I sincerely began to fear the man's power over me – the power to injure, to break bones and dominate.

_Pound. Pound. Pound._

His fists on my skin, unyielding, hard as I ever knew them to be.

_Pound. Pound. Pound._

My heart, circulating life, threading through my ears.

I could no longer differentiate between the two.

_He used to love me_.

The worst part was staring into his eyes, so unnaturally blank that they did a disservice to his face, as he landed blow after blow. I no longer could recognize the stranger he had become; I cringed away, sobbing into my knees until Danarius released me, ordering Fenris to stop before I breathed my last under his blows.

I crawled from the room, bleeding and crying. I didn't fully recover from that beating; the only good thing that came of it was that the guards no longer wanted to touch me, my body gruesome and a little twisted – they still mocked me, however, pushing me over and throwing things at me when I least expected it.

I shook each time Fenris and I were in the same room – which didn't happen often. I hated myself each time, hated the fear that welled inside me; I witnessed him do horrifying things for Danarius, killing unworthy slaves that had shamed him – including children and pregnant women who weren't allowed to breed.

He was a monster. Both of them were.

But I had already given up on trying to change any of it.

Hadriana told me that she no longer liked the look of my eyes – I looked dead to her. So she stabbed one out, wanting to see them full of pain so she wouldn't have to look at the lifeless expression.

I woke up hours later, huddled in a bloody spot in a hallway. Gasping, I crawled away, choking and sobbing, looking for a reprieve.

It all hurt _so much_; there was no escape from the agony of every waking moment; I crawled into the first place I could find - a closet at the end of a hallway, out of the way and quiet. I faintly recognized where I had found myself – the closet felt familiar, like I had been there before, but I couldn't remember when. I curled up, hugging myself, trying to squeeze comfort out of empty gestures. My eye wouldn't open, had crusted over – but I didn't need to see.

I was an old joke that was no longer funny; I didn't want to leave the closet, even though the fear of the dark and the tight space still clutched me internally.

No one had ever inflicted pain upon me in the cage.

I didn't know how long I remained there; I drifted in and out of a wakened, pained state, but I couldn't feel much of anything beyond the dull pain – hope, fear, anguish, despair… all of it was gone.

I realized faintly, somewhere inside me, that I had been broken. They had taken Fenris, magic, hope – all of the pillars I had stood on for so long. I was no one without someone to live for, someone to keep me going, and in one fell swoop, everything was taken away. My existence was only pain.

I couldn't remember the faces of my family, the color or Carver's eyes – the name of the city I had lived in for years – all I knew was the darkness, cold and strangely comforting.

There was no one to disappoint, no one to fight for; perhaps what I was reduced to, lying fetal in a closet, was peace.

A light shown in the darkness and winked out a moment later; I blinked my eyes open, startled.

I belonged in the cell – I was a bad pet, a monster who knew only how to hurt, to kill. I was no better than Fenris. I had murdered the only innocent creature in my world; I couldn't even shift enough hate from myself to share it with Danarius, who found me, directed by a slave who had stumbled upon me in my state.

He kneeled down – I couldn't see his face, didn't wish to. His beard brushed just within the line of sight of my good eye; the last thing that I could hear was a clear declaration of smug triumph. "Looks like I won."

Destroyed and alone, unconsciousness found me for the last time, my head swimming, the pain slowly fading away, dropping off like lead weights, leaving nothing behind.

* * *

><p><strong>SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTERSUMMARY:**

**She's beaten the hell up (a lot), Hadriana is super mean, Danarius has some lols at her expense, Fenris is ordered to beat her halfway to death and she's like "ahh noo wait but I luuub yooou" (but not really because she can't talk) and after months of abuse and living like a cracking piece of hard gum under Danarius' shoe, she finally gives in and dies like a sad puppy in a closet while Fenris begins to live out his destiny of being Danarius' guard dog. Mostly, just a bunch of abuse and Marian having the sads.**

**(And no, this is not the end. I'm sure everyone knows where I'm going from here, right? Right? RIGHT?) (right)**


	34. Outtake 3: Future

**This has been written for a while, but I was never happy enough to post it…but it's about to be too late for me to post it and be relevant, so here's an outtake! (Or better named, exposition with a side of exposition)**.

Outtake 3  
><strong>Future<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Why can't it be perfect?<br>This love's not even real.  
>Why don't I cry for you?<br>Love was dead from the start.  
>I don't want you, I don't need you, I'll forget you<br>It doesn't matter._

_We are perfect, I love you._

_No, this is so wrong  
>Why aren't you gone?<br>I know you're not that strong.  
>Don't listen to me.<br>We'll always be so perfectly happy._

_And maybe one day I'll get to see your smile  
>In the arms of someone who loves you like I do.<em>

Megurine Luka_, "Lie"_

* * *

><p><strong>Fenris<strong>

"Hawke!" Aveline's shout echoed through the hollow emporium. Slender fingers wrapped around the haft of a sword as the two other companions turned – one curious, the other alarmed.

The redhead had been the one to spot the mage as she crumpled to the floor – but the white haired elf flew to her side in an instant, hovering protectively, drawing his sword from his back. The guardswoman followed closely behind and fell at her friend's side, shaking the fallen woman's shoulders, calling her name, trying to rouse her.

If it was some joke, it was a poor one. Fenris felt his neck prickle with apprehension; he wanted nothing more than to collapse at the woman's side and try to wake her as well, but he couldn't eliminate the possibility that there was an unseen attacker.

He thought of several possibilities – Templar? Blood mages? _Danarius_?

Merrill took a place at the other side of their leader and began trying to heal her, to find the problem – and Fenris' eyes, ever piercing, turned to the antiquarian, his lyrium flashing.

"What have you done to her?" he spat. Xenon said nothing, but the golem near the door took a step forward. Fenris cursed, his voice biting out the Arcanum phonetics.

"Fenris, we need to get Hawke to the clinic," Aveline said hurriedly, preparing to lift Hawke. Merrill's hands ceased their glowing, and the thin elf bit her lip.

Fenris nodded succinctly – what else could they do? – and re-shouldered his blade before leaning over and swooping up the unconscious mage before Aveline could hoist her.

Olive-skinned hands grabbed at the thick material of her robes, holding her steady - Fenris shot a glare at the suspiciously silent antiquarian, not trusting in his refusal to comment – Hawke had been fine not two minutes before, chatting and teasing, muddy and tired from a hard day – but no worse for wear, at the end of it all.

Fenris came to expect as much from the woman; resilient and reliable, the world would hurl obstacles and she would tilt her head and laugh like a true warrior – regardless that she was a mage.

_An illness?_ he pondered, shifting her upper body in his arms. He turned his back on the mad collector; Hawke's head lolled against his neck, her hair flipping over her forehead as he took his first running leap, sprinting up the seemingly endless staircase.

No one had noticed the small green gem roll from her palm and fall to the wooden floor with a soft _tink_, as single-minded as they all were into getting her some assistance.

_Magic?_ the thought alone sent him barreling faster through the dank stairwells towards the surface. He went as fast as he dared with the precious cargo in his arms; he cradled her gently and tried to refrain from jostling her, but fear had a vice around his throat; his lungs burned, his legs ached, but he couldn't stop running.

If she died because he wasn't fast enough -

Fenris growled and pushed himself faster, angry at himself. Hawke wouldn't die – he refused to believe that such a person could meet their end in a dingy store by suddenly collapsing.

Naïveté didn't plague him so much as it did others; he accepted death as an inevitability for everyone.

Just not now. Not _her_.

He could still remember the stench of alcohol, the drunken kisses – taking her roughly, angrily, shamefully in her foyer -

He still felt guilt for their ill-timed affair – for taking advantage, abusing her trust -

_- cozy against the abomination's side, her eyes met emerald and her smile widened; she leaned over to speak directly into the abomination's ear, and the man looked up at Fenris._

_They both laughed at the sour expression on his face – and Fenris felt like punching something. He placed himself in the perfect position to glare at both of them, the smug mage and the drunken woman on his lap._

_Isabela teased Fenris, but he didn't hear a single word she said because he could see the abomination – he would not think of him as a person, deserving of a name – was moving his arm, his hand moving under the table and Hawke laughed again, stretching back._

_The bar was loud and obnoxious. He didn't know why he had even come; half of them were too drunk to concentrate on playing cards – Varric and Isabela, the only two who could apparently handle liquor, were wiping the floor with everyone._

_He had been glaring at the wall for some time when he noticed that Hawke had stood and stumbled towards the door. The abomination had let her wander off – and Fenris soon found out that the man had nearly nodded off at the table._

Unbelievable._ They were all ready to see Hawke dead, stabbed in an alley while piss drunk. He stood stoically, dumped a few coin on the table and departed after Hawke, running to catch up to her._

_She hadn't gotten far. He cursed to himself for glaring at the back of her head – she was not his to take, he had no right to feel possessive._

_She stumbled, and he was at her side, hoisting her up. She looked around, confused, but broke into a gigantic smile when she saw his face._

_"Fenris!" she said happily, swiping some of her inky black hair out of her face. "You missed the party."_

_Her breath reeked of alcohol. "How unfortunate," he deadpanned, leading her through the streets of Kirkwall. He knew he could protect her, should they be attacked – but he wanted to avoid being attacked at all on their trip to Hightown._

_Hawke seemed to think his reply was hilarious; her head tilted back and she laughed, grabbing onto his elbow._

_He sighed and allowed the touch; the contact made him itch – he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run from her or take her into his arms._

_His elbow jerked down and his lyrium lighted briefly when wet lips met his; he could taste the foul, sharp liquid that permeated her breath, and her lips were insistent and sloppy; he grabbed onto her shoulders and shoved, holding her nearly an arm's length away._

_"Hawke," he said, warning. She had just been all over the abomination – was she not in a relationship with the mage? She flirted with everyone – he was no different. He didn't think so highly of himself that he would imagine favoritism where there was none._

_But touching her – and being touched by her – he could still feel the ghost of her lips on his, and the taste of her – however muddied by the tangy alcohol - made his blood burn._

_"Fenris," she moaned, trying to get closer to him. He allowed it, letting her slip from his palms and worm her way to his side; it seemed that she was purposely making his body ache by shoving her breasts against his chest, holding herself tightly to him. "Please."_

_Hawke had never begged for anything – not as long as he had known her. The sound of the plea now caused a shudder to ripple down his back._

_She had bested men, beasts, dragons – and she begged of him, the lowly slave. He couldn't stop his body from reacting to her closeness, and she felt him harden against her belly. She raised up to kiss him again, and he staggered away, towards her home._

_His mind was clouded – he wanted her, but not just like this – he wanted her soul, her devotion – but he couldn't have it._

_Because he was a slave – and he didn't deserve her ardor. He didn't know if he could accept it if she chose to give it, so instead he would take what she gave him now._

_If he couldn't grasp at happiness, he would settle for a taste._

_He pulled her into her estate and she stumbled ahead of him, tugging at the sleeves of her finery – she had dressed down for the celebration at the Hanged Man, and the effect teased at something inside of him; she looked soft, touchable. The door slammed behind him, and he looked away from her for a brief second to collect his thoughts._

_He grimaced. He had to leave – he didn't wish to be something that she would regret in the morning, had too much respect for her to live with carelessly sullying her in this way._

_A hand grasped his shoulder and the sudden touch sent a shockwave of alarm through him – so violently that before he knew what he was doing, he had slammed her back against the wall, heard her head connect with a _crack_._

_He tried to rein in his violent reaction, feeling foolish for almost attacking her – he knew she wouldn't hurt him, but years of being hunted and whipped had left him primed for defense. He heard his breath coming in hard pants and slowed, shifting to release her – he had to get out of there before he made a fool of himself._

_But Hawke would have none of that; she grabbed him just as he went to pull away and swiftly reversed their positions, slamming him against the wall; she pushed against him, pressing her lips to his, and he drowned._

_The position was familiar – being overpowered and controlled, he slipped into the mindset easily as she kissed him – but he fought to keep control over his reactions, keep himself in check, from falling into the mindless slave mentality._

_Hawke didn't intend to overpower or control him – he knew that. So he groaned her name into her neck when her lips left his, reaffirming that he was being held there as an equal and _not_ as a slave. He could still taste the burn of the alcohol, but it didn't bother him – he only focused on the reactions his body had to the woman before him._

_"Fenris," she breathed, hitching a leg around his waist and rubbing herself shamelessly against him. He couldn't restrain himself and thrust slowly against her. "Maker, Fenris, just take me."_

_So he did._

_He fucked her twice in her dirty foyer, and it was glorious and debasing and shameful – and afterwards, all sweaty and sticky, he carried her quietly up to her room, a drunken, exhausted puddle of Hawke. He left her ripped clothes where they fell; he traced the marks he had placed on her naked skin, feeling some kind of foolish pride at seeing evidence of their coupling on her._

_Hawke mumbled in her drowsy state and pulled the bare Fenris in beside her, jerking his arm until he fell into the bed. The naked woman immediately cuddled up to his side, curling into the warmth of his body with a contented sigh._

_Fenris froze, unsure of what to do – he had never been intimate with a person – voluntarily, at any rate – and he didn't know the protocol for such a situation. So obviously a drunken mistake on her part, but so obviously a pitiful attempt at feeling on his._

_He should leave. Her nose bumped into the dip in his collar, her forehead smudged the sweat on his neck – he couldn't move._

_He couldn't – not with her heart beating so close to his. It was so easy to imagine that she wanted him there, that he wasn't just a placeholder for someone else – a plaything to pass the time with._

_Because that's what he ultimately was – a tool, a toy._

_But with her so close at his side, her breath fanning over his naked chest – impossible as it was, it felt…comfortable. He had never experienced anything like this closeness, but with Hawke it felt almost right__._

_He shook his head and the odd feeling was gone – replaced again by shame._

_He had taken Hawke._

_He had taken a _drunken_ Hawke._

_The implications of what he had done hit him then – he could have been anyone. Hawke could have thought it all a dream – she wasn't even in her right mind through most of the night, as drunk as she had been._

_He had taken advantage of her._

_That thought jolted him upright; Hawke fell back to the bed beside him, out cold. He couldn't manage to even cover her up – he leapt from the bed, jittery and ashamed._

_He needed an escape – and so he ran. He replaced his clothes and was out the door as soon as he could be, running down the street to the dilapidated mansion where he squatted._

_He bared his teeth at the night, fisting his hands with fury at himself – what had he done? How was he any better than a stranger who would have taken advantage of the rich, drunken noble – or those who had taken him against his will in the past?_

_He yelled and punched a wall, cracking his knuckles against the stone. He ran a hand through unkempt white hair, glinting red from the light of the burning flames on the industrial side of the city of chains._

_Pissed, he continued to run – the only thing he could ever do, it seemed._

And he was still running. He reached the surface, broke through the door with a lanky leg and continued to run – but this time, he wasn't escaping. He didn't know how to fix what had happened between him and Hawke – his abuse of her trust – but she would have to live for their friendship to endure.

There was only one man in Kirkwall who had the ability to fix her now, and whatever bitterness was between the three of him – Fenris wouldn't rest until they had reached the abomination.

**Anders**

_In your house I long to be  
>Room by room, patiently<br>I'll wait for you there  
>Like a stone<br>I'll wait for you there  
>Alone<em>.  
>-Audioslave, Like a Stone<br>**  
><strong>The healer was eternally grateful for the reprieve provided when his patient – a boy of twelve – finally fell into a fitful slumber, relieving the clinic of his quiet, pitiful whimpering. His mother, refusing to trouble Anders by occupying another cot, slept upright in a nearby hard-backed chair, unwilling to leave her son until he was fully healed.

Anders admired her love and faithfulness, but he wished the woman would leave him to his work. A hand brushed through coarse, unwashed locks before he diligently retied his ponytail, his restless stomach quietly grumbling in the stillness of the clinic. He rubbed his face, wiping at his eyes in a weak effort to gain more awareness.

He felt old and weary. The endless cycle of it all – of patients, of mages, of Hawke's determination to pull him from his clinic every other odd day – sapped all of his strength.

Anders never could say no to a pleading face.

But the boy on the cot was stable and breathing – he had an infection deep within the bone marrow of his spine, a rare case that Anders had particularly never witnessed before - but fortunately for the boy, he had read of such cases.

Anders had spent the entire day trying to determine what, exactly, was wrong with the child – he clearly had a fever and had admitted to having burning sensations along his back bone. Through all of Anders' poking and prodding, the situation had only grown worse – the fever skyrocketed and the pain increased.

He had already come to the conclusion of an infection in the boy's bone by the time Hawke walked into the clinic, looking for all of the world like a gloomy, drooping – and vaguely irritated - flower.

However much he genuinely liked Hawke, he was quite happy to see her then – so he could ask her for an herb that would slowly clear out the infection over a couple of days. Just one root would do fine, but he needed it by the day was through to make an adequate and effective potion in time to save the boy – he could go get it himself from Xenon, of course, but he had other patients to tend to and a trip to the emporium as not an out of the way affair for Hawke.

With a heavy sigh and a composed smile, she agreed; Anders hurried to tend to another patient as she left, catching up with Fenris and Aveline, who stood at the door. He assumed that she had been prepared to ask for his assistance on some matter and given up when she witnessed how busy the clinic was.

He knew that she would never ask him to abandon a person who needed his healing.

Still, he felt reluctant to send her away; something about her posture, and the way she hung her head told him that she needed someone – a friend. Guilt crept over him as he watched her walk away, feeling torn in his responsibilities as a healer to the people of Darktown and his obligations as a companion of Hawke.

_It's that damn elf._ He knew that something had happened between them – they could hardly stand near each other without an awkward cloak draping itself in the space between the two. He had begun to notice the awkwardness ever since the night of celebration and too much drink; Anders had debated with himself for hours over whether or not he should even attend the blasted thing. He normally wasn't one for parties, but Varric had promised that the drink and food would be on _his_ tab, and Anders couldn't pass up the opportunity for a full stomach.

Hawke had hung all over him that night; crawling into his lap, laughing and toasting into his ear, her breath hot and humid as it brushed over his skin. It felt wonderful, being so close to a human being once again – and he could understand why she would want someone close. She had lost so much that she would grasp onto anything she could to stay afloat – and stupid and drunk, he allowed her to cling to him.

He almost didn't feel like an abominable monster, with her there. Being there for Hawke.

And then the elf came in, snarling and glaring like he had a claim on the woman – not that Anders would know if he didn't; Hawke had gotten distracted and wanted to leave, and Isabella stopped Anders from drunkenly following her out, the pirate's eyes on the shifting elf across the table - he almost didn't allow Fenris to follow her, but he didn't see any reason to deny him – after all, Hawke had already shown a preference for the brooding, sulky elf.

Now, he regretted letting her go. She seemed so sullen and upset all of the time – all of the moments when he was around her, that was – and he could only chalk it up to the elf's involvement with her that night.

After all, she had been perfectly fine until he hounded her out of the door of the Hanged Man.

He wondered what might have happened – if he had kept Hawke, giggling and drunk, in his lap. What she would have done-

_Your patients,_ the patient tone in his head berated him.

Anders shook his head, shutting his eyes and forcing himself back into the present. He needed to keep regular tabs on the boy – if Hawke didn't show up within the next hour, he would have to attempt to solve the problem with his magic – and he rarely had any supply of mana left in him, having been slowly drained throughout the day.

He reached into a small nook atop his desk – really nothing more than a slowly-rotting, dirty table - and pulled out a crust of bread to eat while he waited – either for Hawke to show up or for the boy's condition to worsen – or any number of other things.

Leaning onto his elbows, he munched on the crumbling bread, staring blankly into space – thinking of everything, yet nothing; heavy weights seemed to pull him down as soon as he began to kick and paddle towards the surface, never letting him break from the water long enough to take a deep, cleansing breath.

"Anders!" cried a familiar voice from the doorway. He vaulted to his feet in an instant, dropping his bread and seizing the panic in his heart before it carried him away.

"Aveline," Anders responded, alarmed. "What's the matter? What's wrong?" He walked forward as Aveline held open the door, ushering in Fenris – who carried a limp, unconscious Hawke in his arms.

"She just collapsed," Aveline explained, panting. They must have run the entire length of the way back to his clinic. "In the Emporium." Anders directed Fenris to an empty cot, his observant, honey eyes trained on the woman in his arms, checking her visually for any wounds or-

"Did you smell anything?" he asked, stepping forward and placing a hand on her neck to check her pulse.

"There was no gas," Fenris spoke acerbically.

Anders had no patience for him. "Aveline, will you grab one of those blue bottles?" He would need energy to check her over and using one of his last few lesser mana potions seemed like such a small thing to lose in comparison to Hawke. Her pulse pounded normally, if a little slowly; he would check her for internal injuries before he moved on.

He couldn't expend too much energy - he was afraid that, if he were to press himself too hard, he may not have enough magic left in him to actually heal her once he had found the problem. To make it easier on himself, he unclasped her robe and peeled it back, unbuckling leathers and dropping them to the floor until she was left only in a breast band and smalls.

The cool neck of a bottle was pressed into his hand and he swallowed it swiftly – in one gulp, not wasting any time to savor the light buzzing on his tongue. He began by sliding his flat palms, a half inch from touching her, across the length of her body – checking for any sign of internal injury or magical influence.

There were a few cuts and bruises from her adventures, and one nasty- but healing - slice on her leg that he had treated a week ago. Other than that, she seemed perfectly healthy – physically, at any rate.

He inhaled through his nose. Anders was no expert on exerting magic over the mind; he was a spirit healer, not a mind controller; he slid one of his palms beneath her bangs, resting his fingers just above her brow, noting briefly how fair she appeared when her hair was out of her face.

He exerted his magic deeply, pressing into her mind – not exactly probing into her thoughts, rather checking for traces of magic that would cause her to remain unconscious – all the while a stream of his voice traveled the room.

"Was she touching anything?"

"Nothing that I could see," Aveline said, sounding troubled as she crouched at Hawke's bedside, carefully watching Anders work.

"Xenon spoke to her," Fenris spoke up, his posture tense.

Aveline nodded, pulling out a small, dusty sack. "She bought your herb, by the way." She set it on the bed beside Hawke's thigh. Anders continued to press on, closing his eyes and concentrating; Aveline waited a moment before she continued, "Do you know what's wrong with her?"

Anders exhaled, rubbing his thumb against Hawke's forehead. "There's some evidence of magic; although it is a subtle kind."

"Rid her of it," Fenris ordered sternly, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

"I would if I could," Anders said ruefully, dropping his hand and leaning onto Hawke's cot. "But I am afraid that I would do more harm than good."

"Explain," Aveline stated flatly, crossing her arms and furrowing her copper brow.

Anders sighed again, wiping a hand over his face wearily. "I am no expert in the area of the mind," he apologized, though he didn't know what for – or to whom. "I'm a spirit healer – a healer of physical ailments. I can't fix psychological damage any better than you or Fenris."

The boy, awakened by the commotion, had resumed his soft whimpers. A few minutes passed with no other sound.

"Is she –" Fenris began, then halted his speech. He turned away; Anders didn't raise his head to look at him.

"You should ask Xenon the specifics," Anders advised finally. "The sooner, the better."

"We already have," Aveline said, rubbing her brow. "He didn't tell us anything."

"Try again," Anders said tersely, "she could be dying of something she found down there, and if she is, it's better we know now rather than later."

Fenris was out the door of the clinic before Aveline could even call out to him to lend herself an aid. She sighed, and also moved away from Hawke's sickbed.

She returned a few moments later with a blanket, but Anders stilled her hand before she could throw it over her. "I should move her," he said, moving forward to lift Hawke. He worked his arms underneath the back of her knees and under her shoulders, lifting her easily – despite his lack of food and general tiredness. "Maker, she needs to eat more."

"She doesn't have the weight of robes or weapons on her," Aveline answered, leaning over to pick up said robes and weapons from the ground. "You can't expect her to weigh the same as a boulder under a bridge – she isn't soft and round like the Circle mages are."

Anders hummed as he carried her to the back room – the room where he usually slept. He had a single pillow and a tattered blanket; he left the blanket lying on the cot as he laid her down, positioning her head on his mother's pillow.

He sometimes forgot – though he didn't understand how – that Hawke wasn't like other mages. She never knew the cruelty of the Templar or the nature of the Circle; she had always been free.

She had spent her entire life running and surviving away from the Templar – a vastly different life than Anders, who had spent most of his life locked in a tower with plenty of food and as many books as he could read, and with little reason for physical activity other than the mediocre physical training he pursued in his preparations to escape the Circle – attempts that never succeeded for very long.

Aveline tossed the blanket over Hawke, smoothing it out and covering her for the time being. "She'll wake up soon," Aveline said soothingly, patting Anders on the shoulder. "It's Hawke. She endures."

Anders nodded, quietly agreeing with the warrior. Merrill shifted nervously, flitting around the room – Aveline had obviously told her to keep quiet, and the silence lingered for several minutes.

Fenris returned, then, looking as grumpy and ill content as ever. "Xenon said she shouldn't be unconscious for more than a few hours – or days." His brow hung low and worrisome on his forehead, his mouth drawn taught. "But he also indicated that her life would not be under threat as long as we take proper care of her."

Anders sighed, rubbing his own brow with aggravation. "Damn that antiquarian," he cursed, staring down at Hawke. "Should we tell everyone else?"

"Everyone else" obviously meant Hawke's other companions – they deserved to know the situation. If Hawke never awoke-

"I'll alert them," Aveline assured, re-shouldering her heavy shield. "Is there anything else you need?"

Anders shook his head, then rethought his actions. "I suppose I could use some food, in case Hawke wakes. If she's out for a few days-"

"Or a few hours," Aveline supplied. Fenris kept staring at the cot; he didn't seem to even comprehend their conversation.

"Or a few hours," Anders allowed, nodding. "She ought to be hungry when she wakes."

He was unwilling to say the words he and Aveline were both thinking – they didn't feel right; not concerning Hawke.

_If she wakes._

They stood in stillness, collectively staring down at the sleeping Hawke, her pale face undisturbed by those around her – almost angelic, with her short black hair ringing her head and contrasting the soft paleness of her skin.

"I – alert me if she – if anything changes," Aveline told Anders, taking a step back. "Fenris, are you coming with me?"

Fenris merely shook his head; his eyes were trained intently on Hawke's face.

Aveline's voice broke the tense atmosphere again, cutting it like a knife. "If he gives you any trouble, Anders, feel free to kick him out."

"Noted," Anders said dryly, watching as Aveline turned to leave. He swiveled his head back to Fenris, unsure of what to say – the elf was clearly distraught, with a drawn mouth and troubled brow. He cleared his throat.

"Do you mind watching her while I tend to another patient?" he settled on saying, not exactly wanting to leave him alone with Hawke – but somehow knowing that Fenris wouldn't attempt to harm her, whatever the prejudice he had against the elf personally.

Fenris shook his head, and that was all the acceptance that Anders needed before he backed out of the room – with only one backwards glance at Hawke, and an unspoken prayer to a Maker he had no faith in.

He would attempt to contact a mage that had the knowledge he needed to treat the situation – and soon.

If he could not, then the only thing to do was watch and wait.

The first day was peaceful; Fenris watched on, sitting diligently at her side. Once, Anders even caught him stroking her hand gently – though he stopped when he realized he had been caught.

Anders would walk in occasionally and check on her – throughout the first night and the entire next day. Fenris left only for the privy, and Anders couldn't convince him to leave the clinic, if only for a short while.

Added protection, Anders supposed. One could never have too much Templar repellant.

Isabela, Merrill, and Varric stopped by that first day; they each stayed for a long while, sometimes sitting to speak to Anders or Fenris. Merrill, though it was clearly known how unwelcome she was in Anders' clinic, did her best to lighten Anders' load with patients while she was present. Varric's voice rumbled throughout the clinic while he was there; several of the children – and even a few adults - who wandered past stopped to listen as he told stories of Hawke's exploits and adventures while Isabela sat with Hawke's head in her lap, stroking her hair and adding her own quips to Varric's tales as she saw fit.

When they were near, Fenris wandered – never far, but not as close. He sat outside the clinic doors with one ear cocked towards the door, just in case something happened.

The air wasn't exactly fresh, but it was less stale outside than it was in the actual clinic.

Those first twenty-four hours went smoothly – minus Hawke, who still lay motionless as death. Without the steady rising and falling of her chest, one might have thought she had passed – but with the friends of Hawke keeping sharp eyes on her, there would be no mistaking her condition for death.

It was during the second day, while Anders was mending a broken leg, that things began to go downhill.

On the second day, the whimpering and screaming began.

It startled and upset everyone present – patients couldn't take the noise and ran out, Hawke's companions cringed at the gasping, harsh sounds of her cries, and Fenris grew more distraught.

"What is wrong with her, mage?"

"I don't know," repeated Anders, fussing with magic as Hawke released a ear-piercing shriek of utter pain – everyone in the vicinity winced. Isabela tried to calm her – and it seemed to work, for a few quiet minutes. Anders watched the angered elf as he punched a wall in futility as her whimpers began anew, his markings glowing at the offending noises in the room, scaring more of the patients. He growled, and Anders officially kicked him out.

"If you can't control yourself, just leave," Anders barked, sending Fenris out the door. "Someone will alert you when she wakes."

"When she wakes," Fenris muttered, barely audible over the racket – but left at the behest of the mage.

The screaming died down an hour later; her voice was painful to hear, scratched and forced as it was by the end. But the noise meant she was definitely alive and fighting whatever had a hold on her; Isabela helped him coax clean water down her throat in an attempt to soothe the muscles that had surely been stretched, if not torn.

All was quiet for a while as night passed over again; everyone left, leaving Anders to his work in the clinic. He healed the snapped wrist of a patient with a small vestige of magic and a horrible ruckus was heard from his private room where Hawke was housed.

As exhausted as he may have been, his legs had never carried him faster as he ran to see what had happened.


	35. ACT THREE 30 Anachronism

"_The grave's a fine and private place,  
>But none, I think, do there embrace."<em>  
>"To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Anachronism<strong>: _A thing belonging or appropriate to a period other than that in which it exists. From the Greek _anakhronismos_, from ana – 'backward' + khronos 'time'._

* * *

><p><strong>ACT THREE<br>30. Anachronism**

I jerked, brought forth into lucidity. My eyes clenched shut and I braced myself for the inevitable torture once someone realized I was alive.

_Mistress Hadriana can't be happy that I crawled off to die without her permission._

But my body was so scarred and abhorred, what more could anyone want with it? I heard a curse, felt a blaze of magic fill the room and my eye snapped open. I panicked, flipping off the bed I laid on, making a racket and causing parchment on a nearby nightstand to fly as I knocked my ankle against a nearby desk hard enough to shake the legs. The sharp spell had dug under my skin, into my head, confusing me – I hadn't felt the touch of magic in _so long_ - I shielded my face with my hands, cowering until my back hit a wall.

I had caused alarm – someone rustled around, sounding as if they were a room over. A door flew open and slammed against the wall. I flinched.

"Hawke!" exclaimed the man who had burst in, rushing to me. "Thank the Maker you're awake." _My name._ "Everything is okay, Hawke. Remember? You collapsed and they brought you to my clinic. I'm Anders," he said slowly, coming ever closer. _How did they learn my family name?_

The name tickled my head; I cracked an eye to look at him and ended up staring at feathered pauldrons, unable to direct my gaze at his face. After a handful of minutes, he spoke again.

"You passed out in the Emporium and they brought you to me. Do you remember?" he reiterated. I heard him shift and tensed – I wasn't ready for him to lay a hand on my head and jerked away with a low, strained moan escaping – _shouldn't cower away, a stupid mistake, surely a beating -_ he removed his hand in an instant, leaving me space to myself.

I could feel his eyes on me like the burning light of lanterns, scouring over me, head to feet, measuring me over. I felt distanced from what was occurring – anxiety and guilt hung in my lungs, weighing me down and I couldn't place why; I only knew that my current situation wasn't right.

_Am I supposed to be here?_

Had I been stolen from Danarius?

_Why would anybody want me?_

"Are you hurt?" he asked – not only clinically; I could detect the concern in his voice, confusing me more.

_Am I hurt?_ _Everything is hurt_. I curled into myself, covering my eyes, pressing my knees into my collarbone. _Just hurt me more and be done._

"Really, Hawke," Anders spoke, tone raising a few notches with his palpable nervousness. "You're starting to make me worry. What happened to you down there?"

"What's going on?" came a smooth, feminine voice from the doorway.

"Decide to suddenly wreck the place, Blondie?" a lower, rumbling voice teased. I heard footsteps and curled further into myself.

"No – stay back; she isn't well," issued the authoritative voice of Anders.

"Maker's knickers!" "Hawke! Sweet Andraste, what happened to her?"

"I don't know." Anders sounded frustrated. I braced myself for his ire. "She's responsive…but she looks…" he sounded stumped, tired. "Scared. Terrified. I can't figure out why."

"Bad dreams?" I recognized that voice – so familiar, it almost hurt. "What a magey ailment. Can you hear me, Hawke? It's me, Varric – your favorite dwarf? Well," he scoffed, chuckling. "Everyone's favorite dwarf."

"How long has she been awake?" the woman asked.

"She's been like this at least a half hour," answered Anders. I heard him stand and step away from me. "She doesn't want me to touch her, and I'm afraid she'll hurt herself if I try anything."

"Do you think there is something wrong with her? Something we might not have been prepared for?" the woman asked, drawing closer.

"Hawke," she said, right in front of me. "I want you to look at me."

I immediately dropped my hands from my face, not one to disobey a direct order. I stared with one open eye at an orange scarf – but she lowered herself unexpectedly and I glimpsed her face before my eyes could meet the floor.

"What's my name?" she asked slowly, watching me carefully.

I couldn't say anything – my mouth was sewn shut; I could feel the sting of the stitches around my lips, the tugging of my loose skin.

"What's my name?" she repeated patiently. Tears pricked my eyes as I was yet again mocked – I would be beaten for being unable to call out her name when I was physically incapable of doing such – a classic trick.

_Aveline._

"You're distressing her," worried Anders.

_Aveline?_

"No, I'm figuring out if this is really Hawke in front of us."

Everyone else fell silent.

"You think it isn't?" asked the dwarf, voice carefully neutral.

"We don't know what she tinkered with down there – that damn antiquarian wouldn't tell us. But she touched something, fell unconscious and now this. Doesn't that seem suspicious?" Avelinine turned to glance up at Anders, who seemed distraught. "Anything could have happened. Her body may have been invaded by a spirit. Or…"

"No," Anders said, trying to sound decisive but coming across as unsure. "I would be able to tell. Justice – Justice would know if something – some_one_ were in her body. There is no demon."

"Fair enough," Aveline allowed. "What do we do?"

Silence again. I nervously stared at the floor, left to wonder what my fate would be at the hands of these almost-strangers.

"Hawke?" the dwarf asked, stepping closer. I knew his name – felt it tingling at the tip of my useless tongue. "Can you speak?"

I shook my head – and the burning flare of magic touched me again, smarting under my skin. I startled and kicked myself away, a shriek in my throat as I backed into the nearest corner.

The call of the Fade – I hadn't felt the buzz of magic in so long. My hand clasped at my throat – _the_ _collar_ – _where_ _is_ -

"What happened?" Aveline asked sharply, looking around.

"I cast a spell, trying to see if she had hurt herself when she fell from the bed."

"Don't do it again," Aveline advised.

"Fancy seeing you lot here," came a teasing voice from the doorway. "Whoa. What happened in here? A shipwreck?"

"Careful, Rivaini," the dwarf cautioned. "Hawke isn't well."

"Why does everyone choose to visit right _now?_" asked a stressed Anders.

"What is – oh, my," she exclaimed as she fully rounded the corner. I got an eye full of a leather boot as she elbowed her way into the tight room. "She isn't looking so good."

She almost knocked elbows with Aveline, who glared. "Hey, sweet thing," she crooned, holding a hand out to me. I flinched away, but it landed on my face anyway, cupping my cheek.

"That's enough," Aveline said. Isabela ignored her.

"You look absolutely terrified," she told me, inching closer. I held fast to the wall. "Like a cat on a dingy."

I heard the dwarf whisper something to the mage and the man nodded before quietly exiting the room.

"We aren't going to let anyone hurt you," Aveline soothed. I stared at the brown chin of the woman kneeling in front of me. A yearning welled in my chest and I realized she had been someone whom I had sorely missed.

_Isabela_.

How often had I wished to speak to her, to relax, to share a pint and halt my worries for an evening?

"She's right, Hawke," Isabela said. "We're here to help you."

I had sorely needed a friend for the longest time. I was always there for everyone who needed me, but it seemed as if no one were ever on side, defending me.

I accidentally looked Isabela in her golden eyes – and immediately sensed the immense compassion she held in her being for those who suffered.

_Even for a monster like me?_

_No. We fight monsters. They kill monsters like me, blood mages and foul people who don't deserve the air they're wasting._

I heard the sobs as they came, felt them shake me. Before I knew it, I was being clasped to a large, tanned bosom and felt safer than I had in a long while – I knew Isabela as a friend, someone to be trusted, as damned and dirty as she could be.

_Better than me. So much better._

"Stop gawking and do something productive," Isabela bossed the rest of them. "She looked like she could use a good hug." Fingers carded through my hair, the stubby nails comforting and the soothing motion calming.

"We've just never seen this side of you, Rivaini," Varric – _Varric_ - offered, pulling up a chair. The scraping noise made me jump, but Isabela didn't let me get far.

"Don't get used to it." I heard the smirk in her voice, but I suddenly felt exhausted. "There you are. Relax. We're your friends. You know us. You can relax; we'll protect you. Let's get you back on the bed. Get out, you lot. Don't you have something better you should all be doing?"

**-A-**

I awoke to voices chatting. My eye opened – my head felt a little clearer.

"Good morning, Hawke," Varric greeted lightly – but cautiously. "We were just talking about Ferelden."

"Good times," Isabela commented. Her boots were off and her feet were resting on the bed I laid upon. I sat up, confused by how it seemed like I was seeing an obscene amount of her flesh, as I had never seen any of it below the knee since she was always wearing her shoes.

_This is the woman who doesn't wear pants_, I reminded myself.

I finally understood, after a few bleary moments of confusion, that I was truly no longer in the past. Or wherever I had been.

_If this is not an elaborate trick._ I would never imagine anything outside of Danarius' power, with his magic and reach.

_Did I die_? Did that mean that I failed my quest, my mission for going to begin with?

I was just relieved to be done with it all – it had been a mistake and I had gained nothing but pain.

_The blows, the aches, the tortures._

A tasteless joke – no meaning could be derived from such experiences, the darkness, the anger, the terror.

I rubbed my closed eye and stopped when I realized no pain came from the action – that there was a ball inside. I blinked and hesitantly raised the lid, felt blinded by all the influx of color and light suddenly within my field of vision – and shut both of my eyes simultaneously, panicked, knowing – _knowing_ that if I showed that I had an eye in my socket that Hadriana would carve it out again.

_No._ I knew this – no. _Hadriana is nowhere near here_. _I am in Kirkwall with my friends._

_You have no friends – you killed them all, remember?  
><em>  
>My tears threatened to choke me – I swallowed, keeping them down, feeling disoriented and lost.<p>

_Where am I?_

"What say you, Hawke?"

I jumped, reluctantly opening both eyes. Anders was right beside me, leaning over my bed. I glanced quizzically up at him, my eyes returning to his feathery pauldrons before being hastily cast about the room, searching for demons in the dark corners.

_No place will ever be safe enough._

"Hawke?" Anders asked again. "Are you hungry?"

Conversation had stopped in the room as everyone awaited my answer.

I realized that I no longer was trapped beneath Danarius – that my eye was present and my ailments were nonexistent – but I also knew what I had experienced and it was _real_. Real enough. There had been times when I had doubted the validity of what I was experiencing, but -

It still felt as if my mouth were welded shut.

_I was a slave. I am responsible for so many horrible things._

But my friends didn't expect slave Marian. They expected Hawke, the mage, the owner of a mansion, the one who braved the Deep Roads. So I swallowed my nervousness and nodded, but not before wondering for a split second if Anders would make me beg for my food.  
><em><br>Stupid_. Anders would never -

A moment later, while I was still feeing horrible, a plate of cold food appeared – bread, meat, and potatoes. I salivated.

"Sorry if it's a bit cold," Anders apologized, setting it on my lap. "You've been here a few days, though, so I suspect it will taste divine regardless."

I stared at the wooden plate – full of cold but delectable appearing food - waiting with a trembling heart for whatever would come.

An order to eat – a tube with which to eat it – for them to reveal it to be nothing but a cruel trick and remove it from my lap.

The sight of it before me did nothing to quench the gnarling hunger inside.

I looked up, but everyone seemed to be waiting for my reaction. _How am I expected to eat this?_

Only after a long, uncomfortable silence did I realize that my mouth truly _wasn'_t sewn shut.

_Why would it be?_

I felt mad – like at any moment I would awake in my cell, or a stuffy closet, or beneath a wardrobe – or in a Hightown mansion, or a tent by the road in the mountains, or perhaps in a little cottage thousands of miles away with the smells of my mother and sister making breakfast wafting in the air-

_Why is anything like it is?_ I studied the plate on my lap, but my bones wouldn't move to my will – too afraid to make the wrong move without a clear command.

"I thought you would never show up," Varric greeted. "How long have you been around?"

"A while," came a deep, horribly familiar voice - my muscles seized, my knuckles grew pale. A white head ducked beneath the entryway and my heart resumed pounding.

Varric said something else, but Anders interrupted him. "Hawke – she's shaking."

Fenris took a small step closer - I was off the bed and back against the wall in a second, reduced to cowering in a quivering mess, the cold wall turning the bare flesh of my back into goose flesh as the plate of food clattered to the floor, wasted.

"Oh," Isabela sighed, lowering her bare feet from the bed. "Not this again."

_Pounding, beating into my skull – not a man, a puppet – not a puppet, a _monster.

"What is –" the low, gravelly and confused voice began to ask – but I screamed, lost, pressing myself into a ball, trying to harden myself into a smaller target to stop the pain from reaching more delicate places.

_He will always hurt – his presence -_

Tears fell over my cheeks, warm and runny; _he loved me, once._

_Stop, please - _

"What's wrong with her?" Fenris asked, alarmed and approaching, one slow step at a time. I screamed again, feeling each blow, the pain, the humiliation, the failure, the stretching of the stitches-

_- the kicks from bare, white-lined feet, cracking bones -_

"Get out of here," Anders snapped. "You're making it worse." I cringed at the tone of his voice – _so angry, I'm sorry, I'll do better, just don't hit me anymore –_ "Get out!"

A door slammed and another shriek left me, unbidden -

_I'm supposed to be dead._

My head could only supply that Fenris had been sent to finish the job – to finish hurting me, to take me back to Danarius like before -

The aching in my head obliterated my rational thought; I couldn't think over the dull pain beneath my temples but I _knew_ it wasn't right, _knew_ that my reasoning for cowering, my fear was misplaced and ludicrous – but I could still see him with the strings being plucked and guided by Danarius, made to hurt, wound -

"He's gone, sweet – what's the matter?" Isabela crooned, laying a hand on my elbow. After a few moments I realized that I was emitting loud, heavy sobs and covered my mouth, trying to quell the flow of sounds as hot tears ran across the backs of my hands."It's all right," she said in a hushed tone, pulling me close. "I'm your friend, doll. Calm down."

"She's hysteric," Anders said – he sounded as if he were pacing. "She needs – tea – and bed rest –"

"Peace, doctor Sparkles," Isabela said as she began combing my hair with her fingers. "I can handle this. Give us some privacy, eh? I think I know a thing or two about being a little hysterical. It's part of being a woman and I doubt Aveline or Merrill would understand – no offense, big girl."

"But – "

"Let's get out of the way, Blondie," Varric said. Metal clanked together. "Rivaini can calm her down. You have patients to tend to, remember?"

"Yes, but –"

"We will only make it worse if we hover," Aveline grudgingly agreed.

"Need anything?" Varric asked.

"No, I think we'll manage," Isabela replied.

The door creaked shut and still I sobbed, but the choked gasps were occurring with less frequency. It felt odd to be held in such a manner, but also familiar and welcome – it helped to calm me down, I felt safe but still so _confused_ but too exhausted to pull the twisted threads of my thoughts apart. My forehead bumped against cold metal and her necklaces clanged together gently, making me jump from the quiet noise.

One hand went behind her neck and she snapped something – and the jewelry fell into her lap before thinking onto the floor.

"I've been wearing that jewelry since a bit before I fled Denerim – maybe it's been too long since I've had something new to wear."

I realized a few beats too late that she was talking to _me – _but even as I realized that, I knew that I wouldn't respond.

"It's been a long time since I've thought about anything like that, you know? Old things. Things that probably shouldn't be thought too hard about." Isabela sighed and leaned back, placing a hand on my head again. "You – especially right now – remind me of some things I would rather stay forgotten.

"I was married, once. But I bet you didn't know that – unless you have Varric's kind of network, but really, who would be checking up on little me?" She chuckled and readjusted her seat – my hands were still glued to my face, my eyes clenched, uncomfortably stiff beside her. "I was bought and paid for by a hairy, greedy little man – and my mother sold me for a trifle, the bitch. He controlled me, kept me under a tight fist and I felt as if I could do nothing – I've never felt so helpless in all my life. Now that I think about it, it explains a few things, doesn't it?" Isabela sighed. I peeked open a single eye to watch her swipe a stray lock of hair that had escaped to dangle in front of her eyes. "After he was killed and I was liberated from him, I would get these really powerful memories – episodes where I couldn't see anyone but him, couldn't hear anything but his screaming at me, couldn't realize what reality was. I still get antsy when I think about him, but I can still recognize what I went through, Hawke – and I know you aren't yourself right now.

"I'm not stupid. From what I gather, you had a bad experience through some magic in Xenon's grand, underground lair and it's stuck with you – the others might not have grasped it yet, but it's pretty obvious to me. It must have been a pretty powerful whack with magic, too, to give you this kind of reaction in just a few days – but believe me when I say this, Hawke." She moved away, her hands grasping my shoulders. Isabela forced me up and I obediently looked into her eyes with only one of mine, the golden brown mesmerizing. "It will get better. You are strong and you will overcome this – whatever Xenon did to you." She sighed and released my shoulders, easing back against the wall and pulling me down to the crook of her arm. "But for now, I think I'll give you what I think I needed back then." She put her arms around me and hugged me close, letting me – almost forcing me to place some of my weight on her.

"Rest, Hawke, and the morning will be brighter."

* * *

><p><strong>Oh dear! Poor Fenris, getting thrown out like a ruffian. D: Can you tell that Isabela is my second favorite romance? But don't worry. This is still a FenrisxHawke story. C: I JUST LOVE ME SOME ISABELABELA(ela, ela, ay, ay)<strong>

**I could definitely use some Isabela hugs every time I have a case of the sads.  
><strong>


	36. 31 Drift

**Trigger Warning****: Hawke has some pretty depressing thoughts in this chapter that might be a trigger to some. It's pretty mild to me, but still, I don't want anyone to be distressed by my story so please be warned if you're emotionally sensitive to self-deprecating thoughts.**

* * *

><p><em>"'Help me up,' said the eagle to the dove<em>  
><em>'I've fallen from my nest so far above,<em>  
><em>oh help me fly, I am too afraid to try<em>  
><em>now saddled with my fear of heights, I'm<em>  
><em>praying you can set me right.'"<em>

"Minnow and the Trout," A Fine Frenzy

* * *

><p><strong>31. Drift<strong>

I woke to the hum of talk around me; but the smells and the feelings were the same as the day before, so I didn't panic when I came to.

"Look at who has rejoined the living," Varric teased, but when I looked at him - with both eyes open – I could see the caution in his face.

I didn't feel like smiling – so I didn't. I calmly, slowly sat up on the small cot and stared at the hands in my lap, waiting for my mind to adjust to the world around me.

"You slept for a long time; do you feel any better? Not that you slept for _too_ long, or that you it was a problem to wait, because I didn't mind, but I've just heard what everyone else said about yesterday and-"

"Daisy," Varric warned, cutting off her rambling.

My eyes slid up and over Varric and Merrill – and I knew exactly who they were; I knew their stories, their struggles, their quirks – and I realized that I was happy to see them both.

"Daisy and I – well, all of us – we've been worried about you, Hawke. You haven't said a word since you came out of that spell, or whatever it was – do you feel all right?"

I touched the tips of my fingers to my lips – my eye was there, the stitches were not. I looked back up at them both. _I have been acting strangely._

_How is this any different than me waking up in Tevinter_?

I reminded myself that the people here knew and cared about me. The place was familiar and the recognizable faces and places were comforting.

I nodded belatedly. _It doesn't hurt anymore._ The imaginary pain lingered in a way that I could sharply recall, but nothing had changed since I had been transported to the past.

_So I didn't disappear – I was here, unconscious. For months?_ _Years?_

I opened my mouth – but the air touching my tongue shocked me, so I closed it again. Silence settled awkwardly between the three of us before Varric took up the responsibility of filling it.

"I bet you're a little confused – hell, so are we. Let's try and clear up some of this mess so we can start to help you. Sound good?" Varric waited for only a second before continuing, guessing that I wouldn't answer. "You were in the Black Emporium. You dropped like a sack of potatoes; Fenris grabbed you and ran the entire way here. Still following?" At this, Varric paused until I nodded, _yes, I'm still paying attention._ "Anders said he looked you over, top-to-bottom, and couldn't find a single damn thing wrong with you that would make you fall out on us. Which is odd for people in businesses like ours – there is usually some real reason for us to collapse off our feet.

"Anders said the only explanation he could come up with was that some kind of magic was being wreaked on your mind – and Fenris said Xenon told him that you would wake up eventually. You were out for two days and woke…well," Varric paused, looking rightfully sheepish. "You know the rest. Seem right?"

_Two days._ No, months – years – a lifetime - forever.

_Two days?_

I nodded. I couldn't say no to Varric, even if I knew it was wrong. It had to be.

_Pets don't disagree._

My hands worried the scratchy blanket in my lap. _He's lying. Why is Varric lying to me?_

_He's working with Danarius. He isn't my friend – we've never met in this time. Does he know? Do they all know?_

_Does Fenris know?_

I chill swept over me and I shuddered – I could only see his glaring, hate-filled gaze or his scathing ignorance that broke me.

"Hawke?"

My head snapped up immediately and my hands dropped the fabric.

"Do you remember anything?"

_All of it._

Every bit.

Every disappointment, every touch, every beating, every coveted happiness.

I could only stare – I couldn't say yes, but I couldn't say no; couldn't tell, but I couldn't bring myself to lie.

After a few minutes of this uncomfortable stalemate, Varric sighed.

"Are you hungry?"

**-D-**

Someone went out to fetch me food while Merrill gathered my clothes and helped me dress. After I was fully and properly clothed in robes, I was once again staring at a plate of food – but this time it was all fresh fruit and bread. I knew I should eat it myself without any prompting or assistance – shouldn't I?

Should I?

I looked up at Varric, Merrill and Anders, all expectant. I felt strange, like I would be punished if I did but would disappoint them all if I didn't.

So I picked up a slice of fruit between my trembling fingers and smashed it against my lips, trying to work it inside my mouth.

I stopped once I realized I was being stared at by my companions – with various expressions of confusion and concern on their faces.

"What is she doing? Do humans normally eat this way while recovering? Am I missing something vital?" Merrill asked, glancing from face to face.

"No, Daisy," Varric supplied, sounding a little defeated. "This isn't normal."

I took a deep breath through my nose. _I'm not slave Marian – I'm Hawke. Malcolm's daughter._ I deliberately opened my mouth – the air hitting my tongue made me tremble, but I slid the piece of fruit inside quickly, relishing in the taste and flavor of something so sweet and juicy and _dear Maker, that's delicious_.

I finished the fruit soon after the first bite, unable to restrain myself from such divine tastes – the bread came last, but it was filling and it felt good to rip my teeth into the hard grain.

After my meal I froze once I realized what I had done – my heart began to pound even as those around me resumed their easy conversation, satisfied that I had eaten.

_Hadriana will be so angry -_

I shut my eyes, bracing for the pain – but forced myself to relax, forced my muscles to unclench. _There is no danger._

Anders moved towards me and I flinched away, stilling again – but he only slowly took my plate away, making his moves obvious and exaggerated.

_What is wrong with me?_

I knew that no one here would hurt me – I _knew _that. They weren't lying, they weren't working with Danarius – they were my _friends_, my companions.

Everyone stopped speaking for a while after that, regarding me cautiously. I felt ashamed.

A hard knock was heard at the door to Anders' private quarters; he answered it, the recognizable redhead at the door.

"We visited the Antiquarian again," Aveline began with her sharply accented voice, entering the room with great difficulty, bending and ducking through the doorframe so as to not scrape it with her armor. "We told him that Hawke finally woke. He didn't seem surprised."

"Good afternoon to you, too," Varric said with mock sincerity.

"What did he say?" Merrill asked, perking up in her seat.

"He admitted finally that he gave her a magical object that put her in such a state. I wasn't familiar with the name, but I wrote it down – he wouldn't tell us much more than that, I'm afraid, and didn't let us even look at whatever it was."

"Let me see it," Anders said, extending his hand, palm up. Aveline dug into one of her pockets, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to him. Anders regarded the parchment for a moment with a furrowed brow before taking the two steps toward his desk and pulling out a book full of leaves of parchment.

"Looks like Blondie is on the case," Varric said, placing a gloved hand on his chin. His eyes turned to me a moment later, the sound of Anders' mumbling filling the room. "You know, Hawke, you scared us all pretty badly. You can't leave us for more than a day without some disaster happening – what were we supposed to do without you up and around to keep us in order?"

_More like you didn't want to have to end your story of the "Legendary Hawke" so soon._

I bit back a smile and stared down at my hands again.

"There it is, I see your smile," Merrill said happily, sitting up straighter in her seat with crossed legs. "Look, she's getting better all the time."

"That she is, Daisy. That she is."

"Having much luck?" Aveline asked, stepping closer to Anders.

Anders sighed and pushed away from his desk. "No. Not much, anyway. Whatever that object is, it's old – ancient – so the magic inside of it is just as ancient. I'll have to write some friends, see if I can turn anything out from them."

"I'll ask around, too," Varric said, leaning back in his seat. I glanced up, looking from face to face without landing on one long enough to make eye contact.

I realized that I didn't want them to figure it out – I didn't want them to learn how badly I had failed. I was ashamed, too, that I had let a man control my life so strictly that I had damaged myself to learn to please him.

I put myself through hell and had nothing at all to show for it.

_Foolish, stupid woman._

No lasting differences could be made that weren't meant to be in existence; the Maker – or perhaps Time itself - saw to that, correcting any damage I would have otherwise done in my efforts to "save" Fenris from his fate.

_None of it even mattered in the end. None of the tireless days spent running, the planning, the lovemaking, the terror – it was all a distraction from the end goal that will always be inevitable._

Why did I ever think that I could change time?

"It can't hurt to put some lines in the water," Aveline agreed, looking at me. I blinked stupidly, having forgotten what they had been talking about; I had wandered so far into myself that I had gotten lost in my thoughts. I felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny and shifted, looking down again. "What say you, Hawke? Do you remember anything at all that happened after you collapsed?"

The silence was thick; I wanted to crawl into a dark corner and forget anything ever happened – I wanted to get their eyes off of me, their knowing, staring orbs making me self-conscious. My skin itched and burned.

"She hasn't said a single word since she regained consciousness," Anders observed quietly.

"Is something wrong with her tongue?" Aveline asked, turning her attention to the healer.

"None that I could detect," he said, worrying a loose thread on his sleeve. "It's highly possible that the magic did something to her to make her voluntarily mute."

"She just needs a little time," Varric supplied, standing. "It's Hawke – whatever it is, she can work past it. Right, Hawke?" His eyes returned to me, a smile full-force on his mouth.

I couldn't bring myself to return it, but I nodded.

"See? Try not to worry too much, Blondie. Now, I need to go see a man about a horse. You coming, Daisy?"

"Oh, yes!" Merrill jumped up, green eyes bright. "I love horses. They aren't as calm as the halla, but they are no less graceful – or so I've found, I suppose."

Varric chuckled as he led Daisy out. "Take it easy. See you soon, Hawke."

It was quiet for a moment after the door shut. Aveline looked amused.

"My father used to say that he was going to see a man about a horse whenever he had to visit the toilet," she said, making an effort to stop smiling and failing at Varric's choice of words. "Oh – before I forget –" she turned to me, eyes suddenly serious and face drawn. "What did Fenris do to you?"

_Angry eyes, unrecognizing, breaking-_

"I would like to know as well," Anders said sternly, crossing his arms. "Has the elf done anything to earn that reaction yesterday? I understand that it could have been coincidental, but –"

"-but you haven't had such a drastic reaction to anyone else," Aveline continued, "if he's done anything to you, I'll have him locked up-"

I shook my head vehemently. _No – he hasn't – but -_

_He has._

_But it wasn't him._

I felt like crying.

There was no way I could explain any of it without seeming mad – they would put me in the Circle of Magi for my own good, or make me tranquil for being crazy if I tried to explain what happened to me.

_It isn't his fault – none of it was his fault -_

_All mine._

"Are you sure?" Aveline asked, looking directly in my eyes. I almost glanced away – but instead held her gaze firmly, forcing her to accept that _Fenris has done nothing wrong._ I nodded once, pressing my lips together.

Anders sighed and Aveline straightened. "You hurt his feelings, I think," Aveline said wryly. "He holed himself up in his dirty mansion after you nearly broke your neck trying to get away from him yesterday. I have no patience for him when he's in a mood like this, so he'll have to come off it himself."

"Maybe she's finally realized how dangerous he is," Anders muttered, earning a sharp, tired glare from the guardswoman.

"No more dangerous than you or me," Aveline retorted before turning her attention back to me. "I think it's about time you went home, don't you?"

"What?" Anders asked, startled. "She hasn't fully recovered –"

"She seems fine to me," Aveline said. "She's awake, she's eating, she's responding – what's wrong with her?"

"She –" Anders sputtered, at a loss. "She's not speaking, she – she isn't at her best –"

"Does she have to be at her best to go to her family home? Don't you think she needs rest more than anything?"

"I have reservations about her being away from the clinic until she seems more like herself," Anders said. "What if she collapses again?"

"We'll check on her," Aveline promised. "Every day. Every meal time, if necessary."

Anders sighed. "I doubt I'm going to win this argument."

"You aren't," Aveline said shortly. "Come on, Hawke. I'll walk you."

-**D**-

Anders ended up tagging along to walk me home – darkness was falling, but we weren't attacked. It seemed that we had cleaned up the streets enough to not fear walking home late, but none of us were ones to chance fate.

We made it to the Amell estate without incident – until Anders offered to spend the night and keep watch over me.

"I think she can handle herself," Aveline said, shooing him away. "She's old enough to take care of herself for a night – besides, what would the neighbors think?"

"A crazy apostate man spending the night with messere Hawke!" Anders said, rolling his eyes. "Maker forbid they tell stories about our sordid affair. She's unwell, I'm a healer. It is what it is: an offer. My intentions are clean."

"I believe you," Aveline said. "But I also believe she could use some privacy. You people have been dogging her every waking moment; if she were me, I would want some alone time."

"'Alone time' could kill her if she collapses again," Anders pointed out, only to receive a heated glare. "Very well," Anders said with a sigh, stepping out of my foyer, outmatched by the warrior. "Good night to you both."

"Have a safe night," Aveline responded, bristling. She held her tongue until he was completely gone, out of the door and on his way back to Darktown. "Hawke, I know what I just said to Anders, but – would you like someone to stay the night?"

Completely serious, Aveline held my gaze, regardless of her having nearly pushed Anders out the door for making the same offer.

I knew that having Aveline around would make me feel safer – already, I could feel the shadows of the empty rooms crowd around me, waiting for an opportunity to overcome – but I also knew that being weak, that asking Aveline to spend the night would not be something Marian Hawke would do.

Ignoring my fears, I shook my head. _I shouldn't keep Aveline from her duty just because I'm scared._

There was no reason for me to fear. _Nothing has changed between now and when I was transported to the past._

Except my entire world had changed – so _much_ had changed.

"Very well," Aveline said slowly – reluctant, but unwilling to be invasive. "I'll be patrolling in Hightown tonight, so don't feel too lonely. Bodahn and his boy are away for the week – we learned that when we sent someone to alert them to your situation a few days ago and there was no one here but a note. If you get lonely or feel threatened, feel free to yell for me out your window. I'll come running, because if I don't someone will complain about the disturbance and I'll have to come anyway."

I cracked a smile, feeling small again.

I tried not to look around at all the dark corners of my house, knowing it would only make my skin crawl.

"Have a restful night," Aveline said, backing away towards the door. "I'll stop by first thing in the morning, so be awake."

I didn't respond in any way, but I waited in the foyer until the door shut behind her. I rushed forward immediately to lock it, blowing out the candle Anders had lit when we entered my home, dropping me into darkness.

I felt along the wall, creeping until I made it into the great room – and then to the stairs. I knew my home by heart, but it felt like ages since I had walked its halls. The dark corners felt unfamiliar, unsafe – each turn made my heart leap in fear, imagining demons and sadists around each corner, ready to burn and maim me.

My hands were shaking by the time I made it to my bedroom, my knees weak when I reached my bed. When I lay down, I froze, uncomfortable and tense. The bed felt too soft. I couldn't close my eyes, couldn't rest – it felt like I was breaking rules by lying on my own bed.

Fighting back bitter tears, I crawled off my bed until I reached one of my closets – a hulking armoire, with four stout legs – and I threw it open, crawling inside, away from all the eyes in the dark, hiding from anyone that would do me harm.

I felt ashamed for being so weak – but as ashamed as I was, I was still too afraid to crawl out.

So there I slept, a bare sliver of light creeping into the closet to peek at my face; every scratch, every whisper of wind causing me to wake in a cold sweat.

**-D-**

_I win._

I gasped and tumbled out of the closet, stringing clothes and belts out behind me as I skittered across the room. The stone floor chilled me, but the sun shone through the high windows and heated the stagnant air.

My chest pumped rapidly with my heart and breaths as my eyes darted around the room.

I heard what had woken me – a pounding at my front door.

I crawled under my bed and stayed quiet until the pounding had passed.

-**D**-

"Messere Hawke? You home?" called a light, male voice as the door slammed. I jolted awake – my head hit a beam of wood and a sack of flour fell into my lap, coating me with a light dusting of powder. I panicked, scrambling to put the flour back into the sack but only succeeding in making a bigger mess.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no._

"Serah?" Bodahn asked, pulling open the door. "Sweet Andraste, what are you doing in the pantry?"

I opened my mouth to explain myself, but my tongue caught and the words wouldn't leave my throat. I sat with a package of flour dumped in my lap, at a loss for words to explain myself.

Bodahn waited a moment before sighing. "Just when I thought humans couldn't get any stranger," he said with a chuckle. "I'm sorry for returning at such a late hour, but my cousin, you understand, wouldn't let us go when we wanted. Wouldn't hear a word of it; we had to drag ourselves out. Isn't that right, Sandal?"

"Enchantment?" Sandal returned, swinging his legs on a chair in the kitchen. I stood up with Bodahn's assistance; he placed the flour back on the shelf. My head smarted.

"That's right, he did a lot of enchanting," Bodahn continued. "My apologies for putting you out of a manservant for nearly a week. But you're a big girl – not that you're _big, _you know – but you can handle yourself for a few days, I thought. You seem to have managed well. I suppose I'll start the dinner; is that okay with you, messere Hawke?"

Already out the kitchen door, I started my walk to the stairs. I didn't remember finding my way to the kitchen or crawling into the pantry – _so lost._

I made it to my room, but no further. I stood in the center of my room, staring up at the high ceilings, out of a window far above my head. The sun was setting at a slant not visible from that window, making the light coming through shaded; dull and dark.

I felt eyes on my back – dangers around every corner.

_Why?_

Why?

I_ spent two days hallucinating; dreaming._

_It never happened._

_I've never even been to Tevinter._

_Why am I so afraid?_

I didn't realize I had slid to the floor until my forehead touched the cold stone; I felt my shoulders shuddering with dry heaves.

_A dream._

_Not real._

_It's not real and I'm letting it control my life._

I had spent the last few days in my house catatonic; ignoring my friends, unmoving except for necessary reasons – crawling from hiding place to hiding place, unwilling to confront reality.

But reality found me on the floor of my bedroom, curled up and weeping like a baby.

_Weak._

_Fool._

I squeezed my hands around my head, fighting the oncoming headaches.

_All of that pain and nothing to show for it except realizing how monumentally stupid I am._

Everything in the past… in my hallucination… would have turned out fine, if not for me and my meddling.

_Worthless.  
><em>  
>I heard footsteps on the stairs; I rolled over and backed away from the door until my back hit the footboard of my bed. Someone knocked on my bedroom door.<p>

"Messere? I brought you a plate of dinner. Since you seem busy, I'll just set it on the ground right here. Better get it soon; Aveline might send your pooch back and he'll gobble it right up if you don't claim it."

He turned and left. My head swam; I knew I needed to eat to regain my strength, power over my thoughts.

So I crawled to the door and rescued my plate of food – ate it with my mouth wide open, unafraid but trembling.

**-D-**

My washroom felt unsafe – I expected Hadriana to come out and seize me in my most delicate state.

My study was no better, even though my reason for being afraid made me guilty. Amongst the tomes and smell of parchment, I expected the order _punish her_ to ring out; expected the wrath of a manipulated Fenris to bear down upon me until I was broken and bleeding, unable to even cry out.

_Fenris never hurt me._

I had to keep reminding myself that the past that I endured didn't actually happen to me. It was impossible; even if it had, I could never blame Fenris for the orders of Danarius. _Never._

No matter what he was ordered to do to me, I knew that he cared for me, loved me – that he would have never done any of the cruel things that he did to me in his right mind. I _knew_ that.

_Maker damn it,_ I still loved him. Even after the brutal punishments and indifference and heartbreak, _I still loved him_. But every so often, while sitting in my house, I would realize that he never existed and it broke my heart all over again.

Most of the days in my home I spent holed up in my room, where there were no corners to turn around – no risks. My friends came and were turned away by Bodahn, who said I was 'unwell' or busy and refused to leave my bedroom – not even for meals.

It was so unlike me to wallow; I never did this, not when my sister died or when my brother left; not even when my mother was brutalized. I never pulled into myself and refused life.

It didn't feel like anyone died – but it felt as if I was dying, fading away, forgetting who I was.

I was plagued by memories of events that never occurred; in my nightmares, my heart was broken over and over again by a man I never had the opportunity to love.

_"I can promise nothing else but to try."_

I felt a pang in my heart as I heard the low, raspy words – I could see him in front of me, with his dark brown hair and emerald eyes teeming with life, worries, nervousness and _excitement._

He had been willing to try for me – _and what had I done for him in return_?

I covered my mouth in horror, falling into the trap of hating myself again as I tried to stifle my oncoming tears.

_I ruined his life. He gave everything to me, and I ruined him, and now I'm sitting here, useless and dumb, unable to face the life he wanted to give me._

I knew I needed to push past this – I couldn't let a few nightmares control my life. The memory of my Fenris _– my Fenris, not Danarius' twisted pet –_ begged me to.

_It never happened. Stop acting like it did._

He would have wanted me to be strong for myself. I _wanted _to be strong for myself - this cringing, frightened creature was _not me_.

_But it is._

I decided that I would face my fear directly, without shirking confrontation. There would be no fear; I could handle myself – there were no mage collars, no magebane, no wounds – and he wouldn't hurt me. Night had fallen hours before, but I still crept to my kitchen, as silent as I had been taught to walk as a slave.

_Which never happened._

Fresh produce abounded in my kitchen and I was thankful to Bodahn for keeping it well stocked. I worked for a few hours, cooking and seasoning until I had a decent meal assembled from excellent ingredients. I packed the food into bowls, and then into a basket – which I also stocked with a bottle of wine and a fruit.

With a heavy chest, I started out the door, basket in hand – forgetting my boots and gloves and even my robes, so used was I to walking around in barefoot and rags. Finery would have to do for this trip. My destination wasn't so far away – but I hadn't seen him for a week, and the last I had seen him I had such an adverse reaction to him that I apparently "hurt his feelings".

I had to do this; I couldn't cower in my room for the rest of my life – my life wouldn't be complete without this closure. I needed to do this; I needed to see him and _know_ that we had never met prior to Anso's letter. That this was the only Fenris that I would ever know and he would never intentionally cause me harm.

Despite my initial confidence, my trepidation grew with each step.

I knew, somewhere inside, that I had nothing to fear from this Fenris. This one knew me as a companion, a friend; he had defended me, had my back as I had his time and again – he wouldn't hurt me.

Fenris of the past, pet Fenris, this Fenris – what made them different? Why weren't they the same?

The ground was cold as my feet slapped against the stone. I hunkered over, suddenly aware that Hightown was dangerous after dark – but this step was more important than being afraid of gangs or imposter guards.

When I reached the dusty mansion, I didn't have the bravery to knock on the door. I suddenly didn't want to alert him to my presence – standing there, looking up at his door, I realized that I _couldn't see him._

_Not like this, not as I am._

_He gave up everything for me, only for me to be reduced to this?_

_But he didn't. It was just a dream – it never happened. All wishful thinking that I would have never wished for._

_He has stood at my side through many horrors. I owe him more than this._

All this Fenris knew was that I passed out for a few days and woke up only to scream at his presence. _I owe him more than that. Even if I never see him again after this – I owe him so much more than that, for fighting by my side and being my companion, let alone the romantic interest that may have once been between the two of us._

So with a deep breath, I crossed the threshold, pushing the heavy door open and shouldering my way through.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I knew I had made a mistake. The entry way was so dark, cold and cramped with old crates and belongings that my blood pressure raised just by being there. I set the basket down on a table just past the entryway and tried not to panic – but before I could steel myself, I was back in my cell, begging for food, hunched over until I lost blood flow in my legs -

I hugged my arms around myself, standing awkwardly in the center of the room, hating myself, hating the situation. My hands shook from the cold – I began to feel empty and scared. I shut my eyes, trying to calm myself, taking deep breaths.

_The cell never existed._

_You were never in Tevinter._

_Fenris will not hurt you._

"What are you doing here?" a loud, deep voice asked a mere few feet away.

I screamed and was out the door in a heartbeat, pounding my way across Hightown in the cold of the night.

"Hawke!" I heard him yell behind my back, calling me – but the sound of his voice, barking and loud, made me flinch – all I could hear were his hard, rough pants and grunts as he drove his heel into my bones and planted a fist into my cheek.

Halfway back to my home, I fell and busted my knee – but that didn't deter my running, even with a slight limp. My adrenaline and over worked heart kept me running, the tears coursing down my cheeks, running off my chin as I reached my home and ran straight up the stairs, feeling foolish and weak, like every action I could ever take would be futile.

_Futile and worthless_. Sobbing, I grabbed a pillow from my bed – still too soft to sleep on – intending to crawl into my closet but ended up scooting beneath it, pressing the pillow towards the wall and curling my body around it.

I didn't move for hours, crying into the soft fabric of my pillow. I eventually – blessedly – fell into a light slumber, my eyes and lips raw, my heart resuming its normal beating patterns.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so happy to have gotten this far; I feel like me and Marian have come a long way together and it gives me the honey nut feelios.<strong>

**How do you feel about the possibility of the Warden and Hawke (and potentially their LIs) making appearances in DA:I? I've heard a bunch of different rumors, but I don't know anything for certain…and I'm not sure how to feel. :I**


	37. 32 Slate

**HERE'S TO BREAKING THE 200,000 WORD COUNT  
>OH GAHD OH GAHD I'M SO EXCITED<strong>

**And on another note, we have mixed feelings at the possibilities of seeing our Warden/Hawkes and/or LIs in Inquisition. Some think it's great, some think it's k, and one is afraid that they'll show up only for us to see them die (because THAT'S how BioWare rolls) (and now I'm scared) (please don't make me kill Zevran) (or Fenris ohgod)**

* * *

><p><em>Say something, I'm giving up on you<br>And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you  
>And anywhere I would have followed you<br>Oh say something, I'm giving up on you._

"_Say Something_", A Great Big World

* * *

><p><strong>32. Slate<strong>

"Hello?" called a light, airy voice from my entryway. "Is anybody home?"

"Good day, serah," I heard the muffled voice of Bodahn greet. "Messere Hawke is in her bedroom. I'd kindly ask you to-"

Feet bounded up the stairs, cutting of Bodahn's request. "Hawke, are you in here?" she asked, voice muffled. Merrill opened the door, glancing around, shifting on bare feet. "Oh!" she exclaimed, spotting me. She crawled over to my spot on the floor, on her hands and knees, her lightly tattooed face poking into my hiding spot beneath one of my closets. "This is an odd place to take a nap, isn't it? But I suppose I can't talk; I've fallen asleep in strange places before. Once in a tree, another time in someone else's garden - but never mind," she said, realizing she was beginning to ramble. "I came to visit you because you haven't come out since you fell ill and I thought a trip somewhere nice and airy would perk you up. So do you? Want to take a trip with me, I mean."

It felt surreal, having a one-sided conversation with the slight Merrill while crouched under a closet. The Marian Hawke I had been in the past would have never imagined this taking place – and here I was, hiding from the world from under a closet, getting talked at by a Dalish mage with tattoos on her face and an accent that reminded me of daydreams.

If Merrill was anything, it wasn't threatening. I felt comfortable enough in her presence – not _safe_; I still checked the corners reflexively over her shoulder, but I didn't scream and run from her.

I winced at the reminder of the horrible way I handled Fenris' sudden presence when I had made an attempt to make amends.

Still in need of a push to get me back on track in my life, I wondered if maybe _this _was meant to be my first step.

So I nodded and crawled out from under the closet, obnoxiously aware of the fact that I hadn't spoken a word since I "woke up".

_"We have been instructed to beat you brutally if we catch you trying to communicate."_

The beatings had been worse when I could speak and cry out – especially to Fenris. When my mouth had been sewn, the game dulled for those who had been opposing me. I supposed I had learned that keeping my mouth shut would save me trouble – which is a lesson I could have admittedly used many years before now.

I rubbed at my hand, remembering the feeling of shattered and crushed bones.

After rising, I dressed quickly, in strong leathers in lieu of a robe, with a hardy staff at my back – all the while an unending stream of words entered the air by way of Merrill. I didn't mind it; it was company – company I had sorely needed.

We stepped lightly through Hightown, dodging crowds and nobles on our way through to one of the gates of Kirkwall that opened to the road directly to the coastline. It was a bright and handsome day, but I felt disquieted as we journeyed. The swirling of the Fade seemed close and reachable, but actually wielding magic felt drastic – almost upsetting to the balance of my mental state. It had been so long since I felt the raw power, the strength of magic flow through me – I didn't know if I could control it anymore. It frightened me.

The sand at the coast was hot and dry; Merrill stretched out her toes, languishing in the sun – so I did, too, removing my boots and basking in the nice day. It felt normal.

"It's so beautiful," Merrill said, stepping closer to the water. "We should have thought to bring Isabela. I bet she loves it out here."

_I bet it makes her the strangest kind of homesick._

I stared up at a white, fluffy cloud, the sand underneath my feet taking me back to Fausta's house; a sandstorm, a party, two hearts meeting in an unlikely place.

_"I can't imagine there will ever be a time in which I don't love you."_

_You were wrong, Fenris._

I had laughed at the time when he had said it, but the sentence sounded even more ridiculous in this time - a time where it seemed impossible for him to trust me – impossible for me to even _be in the same room with him._

"What is that?" Merrill asked, taking a seat beside me. I turned my head to her, confused. "The song you were humming. It was pretty."

My face grew hot as I realized I had been idly humming _You are my sunshine_.

"Is it a sailor song?"

I could have laughed if I didn't feel so heartbroken all over again. I sat at her side with a heavy sigh breaching my lungs.

_We had such a wonderful chance to be free; endless possibilities were linked to our fingertips and we had only to grasp at one to choose a path – we had love, we had each other, he was the sun in my sky and I his warmth, his lover who had skipped over from another time in order to be at his side._

_Why couldn't that have been enough?_

I heard heavy footsteps approaching on the sand. I lifted my head up, went to alert Merrill, but she was looking out at the ocean, silent and retrospective as she watched the waves.

"What brings you two ladies to the coast?" asked the man who casually stepped around a boulder.

I realized a little late that "normal" for us was getting attacked by slavers and bandits. _It's impossible to have a normal moment without it also being life-threatening._

"It's a nice day," Merrill said pleasantly; but I got to my feet, brandishing my weapon – as useless as it seemed. Seeing me, Merrill did the same, alerted to the possible – inevitable - danger.

"Hey, whoa," the man said, throwing up his hands. "I'm just a weary stranger looking for a nice spot to sit. This look good?" he asked as more people closed in around us.

"The best," said a larger man to my right. I set my back towards the ocean – there were five bandits in all, nothing the two of us couldn't handle normally. But I wasn't feeling very normal.

"Stay back," Merrill warned, but her voice was a little too high pitched to be threatening.

I exhaled sharply through my nose – but felt the panic rise.

_Fighting back means a worse beating._

I shook the thought away. _There's no time for that._

A man advanced towards me and I used my staff in the exact way it wasn't truly meant to be used – as a club. It bashed him across the face, scraping his skin, bloodying his mouth, and splintered the wood of my weapon slightly. Merrill cast a spell beside me, freezing another man before electrocuting another.

I remembered taking a leap over a coliseum – controlling the inhabitants with magic – and felt intensely frustrated with myself for being so timid. Merrill's spells tingled through my spine and I heard the hissing of magic as she hurled it at our enemies.

I clenched my hands, knowing that magic was a second nature to me – knowing that if I just _focused_, it would come. But my fingers quivered and my magic felt shaky and unreliable – though the feelings no longer startled me – I couldn't concentrate. A man with a thick beard and an iron axe noticed me and began to barrel towards me position – I attempted to focus on my magic, to paralyze him - there was an axe swinging toward my face – I was afraid of what might happen if I unleashed something so hazardous, untrusting of my ability to control my magic. My fingers trembled and I flinched away - but a blur of blue blocked the axe, knocking it off course.

The man was pushed from me and stabbed through with a glowing, gauntleted fist as Merrill began to melt the ground with her magic, slowing the steps of everyone around us – the sparks of power leaking from her spells seeped into me, burning my concentration, making me slightly dizzy; I clutched my head, trying to breathe, to stay upright, feeling useless.

"Fenris!" Merrill yelled after the screams of the falling died out. "Did you follow us? Ma serannas, we would be in trouble if you didn't."

I felt faint from the tugging and pulling of magic; a small hand on my shoulder steadied me.

"Did you see us leaving Hightown?" Merrill asked, shouldering her staff. "You must have been worried. Rightfully so, I think; I should have expected something like this to happen."

"Yes, you should have," Fenris said, voice hard. I flinched. "I need to speak with Hawke."

"I understand, but –"

"Leave us."

"But – Hawke –" Merrill stammered, looking to me; my eyes couldn't leave the ground. "I – very well, if you insist, I suppose I can… walk over there...if you're sure?"

I didn't respond. She left us – and my heart pounded, waiting for an attack, for blows.

Blows that came in the form of a voice.

"What have I done to deserve this treatment?" Fenris asked, voice hard.

I couldn't run – couldn't move from my spot, rooted with bare feet into the shifting, unsteady sand. The wind picked up, pricking my face with the sharp granules.

"Speak, Hawke," Fenris ordered, taking a step closer to me. "Say something."

My entire body flinched away from his advancement – during that instant, my eyes glimpsed his tattoos – without them there, I could almost imagine that this was _my_ Fenris, the one that I had loved -

And the tears came. I hadn't known there were that many left – but I couldn't stop them, no matter how hard I held my breath or tried to calm down. Fenris' hands reached out to me, but he pulled them back before even the tip of his blood-spattered, pointed gauntlet could touch my skin.

I remembered a time when Fenris loved touching me – _Leto?_

Was that even his name?

_Did I ever even love him?_

That Fenris – _Leto, _the man to whom I had offered my heart - _never_ existed, and I wept for him, the one memory that I wished to be real – it cut me deeply, knowing that it had all been a figment of my imagination.

_No one could ever love me like that, could they?_

"What did you do?" Merrill asked, sounding far away. I could hear her bare feet hitting the sand.

"I – don't know," Fenris said. My knees wobbled, but I refused to go down.

_I'm supposed to be the strong one._

"What happened to you?" Fenris asked, voice little more than a whisper, low and rough. "Why won't you speak?"

I raised my fingers to my mouth – the string was gone, but my words were clumsy and unconfident, like my magic. I couldn't make myself say a word in response.

_I can't._

_I can't do anything._

We stayed that way, for a while – with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks to fill our ears as they watched me try to calm myself. I stared at the white sand beneath our feet, my arms clasped around me. My gaze fell onto a lyrium-dotted foot, so odd yet so familiar – and I fought not to lose myself to the nightmares, to the memory of that same foot breaking my bones.

_It wouldn't be unjust for it to do it again._

I felt low; as if I held everyone back, crippled all improvement. Fenris and Merrill awkwardly stood around me as I tried to tame my crying, hating myself, hating what I had become – hating how I treated those who only ever wished to aid me.

After a while, we began our journey back to Kirkwall – a nice day ruined by me and my issues. We walked in silence – but I held myself well, walking beside the man who ruined me – the man whom I ruined.

Merrill diverged away when we reached Hightown, mumbling her apologies and thanking me for walking with her. I sensed that she was embarrassed and felt horrible for the whole thing.

Fenris, however, walked me straight to my front door – carrying my boots. My hands shook when I realized that it was only the two of us, walking side by side in the streets together towards my home.

_Should I invite him in?_

Can _I invite him in?_

_What does he want me to do?  
><em>  
>I debated and fought with myself, trying to be strong. I never answered any of his questions – never truly confronted him, even though I had tried to tighten myself, make myself stronger and approach him. He had kept an eye on me, had kept me safe in a hazardous situation even though I couldn't even manage to say one word to him.<p>

_Why?_

Because I've helped him before. Because he feels indebted to me.

My body warred against that feeling – _unworthy. I'm not worth his trouble._

We made it to the front door of my house; the sun set low in the sky, slanting light over us. Our shadows grew long beside each other, without an inch of them touching one another – I stared at them, scared of moving forward, of inviting him in – of him making a move.

Fenris looked as if he wanted to say something. I couldn't manage to look into his big, green eyes – but I noticed his sloping mouth, slightly opened, ready for speech. He seemed as if he wanted to reassure me, to ask forgiveness or perhaps repeat one of his earlier questions – but his pride wouldn't let him speak, as so many of his words had been wasted on me. His eyes swept away – not down, but to the side.

I felt upset with myself for displeasing him – out of anyone in the world, he was the one person I didn't want to hurt.

Fenris closed his mouth, his white hair catching red in the dying light of the sun as he tilted it forward. His arm reached out as he offered my boots to me. Looking down, I received them, feeling small.

I paused when I reached for the door handle. Fenris turned to leave, head slightly down with his normally slouched posture, heading towards his dilapidated mansion.

"Sorry," I whispered, barely audible in the dull cacophony of voices echoing through Hightown. His right ear twitched and I turned, immediately sliding through the door and shutting it tightly behind me. My back rested against the wood of the door as I began to hyperventilate, unable to get enough air in my flustered state.

I walked, tripping over my feet, shaking through my thighs, until I made it to my bedroom – where I promptly clutched my pillow to my chest until the shaking stopped.

**-E-**

"Can I have some?" came a cheeky voice from behind me. I shrieked and spun around, my back hitting the counter behind me as I was startled by the pirate, who laughed at my reaction. "I figured I would let myself in, since you never come to the door anymore."

I huffed, turning around to continue my work, kneading dough. _Time to change the locks again._

I had a batch of cookies in the oven, fluffing out to fullness in the heat of the dull fires beneath. Baking was a calming process and kept my mind off of…everything. I still didn't feel up to fighting or romping about, so baking it would be until I got back in touch with myself.

_Who says I that have to fight, anyway?_

It's just been my main profession for the past, oh, half a decade..

"I heard about your trip with Merrill yesterday," the pirate said, snatching a warm oatmeal cracker from the counter. I sighed and added more flour to my sweet bread. "I also heard a rumor that you've been stealthily stocking Fenris' icebox – and I don't mean that as a euphemism, oddly enough."

I shook my head. _That's not exactly true. I took him dinner once – is that such an odd thing to do?_

_Maybe_. _I_ did _run out the door like a madwoman the moment he appeared._

"Does that have anything to do with what I found on your doorstep?" she asked, baiting me.

I glanced askance at her and she produced a wicker basket from behind her back – clanking with bowls and glasses inside. I recognized it as the one I had taken to make amends to Fenris.

_That certainly went well._

"A bunch of empty plates and a half-drunk bottle of wine inside. Seem familiar to you?"

I focused back on my work with the dough, my eyes downcast. After a few moments of thought, I nodded.

She set the basket on the counter top. "Don't worry, dear, I won't take the rest of the wine. I prefer ale."

_You call the dog piss at the Hanged Man "ale"?_

"It sounds like you need a friend," Isabela said, leaning on the counter beside me. "But I think I've been a little too friendly, lately. So how about you just try being Hawke and I'll be me and we'll go on adventures. I'll even be lewd, if it makes you feel normal. Sound all right?"

"I – tried," I said, voice halting and breaking in odd places. "Acting normal."

"You did," Isabela said, her tone taking an unhappy turn. "And that didn't pan out so well, did it?" She sighed, rolling over to lean her back and elbows against the counter instead. "That oatmeal thing was delicious," she told me, grabbing another. "Are you taking those to Fenris, too?"

I shrugged.

"Is that your way of apologizing?"

_If only that could be enough._ I shrugged again.

_He said he's never had any. It's about time he's had some._

_But that never happened, did it?_

I had planned to share with everyone else, as well. There was no use in fattening up just Fenris – all of my companions could use a cookie every now and then for what I dragged them through.

"Do you want to do lunch? Since you're baking, we could go to the Hanged Man." I made a face and she laughed. "Okay. We can make something. I'm not actually that talented at cooking, though."

"I –" I swallowed past the lump in my throat, repeating in my head once again that _my mouth wasn't sewn shut,_ "-used to help my mother." I knew my way around a kitchen well enough.

"You mean when you weren't taking off ogre heads as a child?" she teased. I went to the breadbox and pulled out a loaf and set to cutting it. I pointed my knife at the cupboard, where Isabela retrieved the cured ham and slightly aging cheese. She brought both of them to me before taking a seat. "Make me something delicious, woman." I sighed and she pulled out one of her daggers, turning it over and over, examining it idly as I began cutting the large cooked ham for four.

"You're confusing the poor man, you know. The rest of us, too. You haven't said a word about what happened, so we're all at a loss about what to do – we don't know if you need time, or if you need normalcy, or if you need an exorcism. A little help would be nice." She set down her weapon and looked up with me – but I didn't meet her eyes. "You're driving us all crazy. Not to mention all the jobs we have lined up that we haven't gotten to."

I didn't respond; instead, I made four sandwiches, saving two for Bodahn and his boy. I sat at the kitchen table, across from Isabela as we had our impromptu lunch. I couldn't force myself to eat but a little of my own food, my appetite nonexistent.

"I visited Fenris," she said – without looking at me. I tensed up at his name. "I thought he could…use a _friend_, you know? To get his frustrations out." She smirked and I felt rotten. "I'm good at being _that_ kind of friend. The kind that helps you forget your problems – but he was three sheets to the wind and could hardly form a sentence."

She let that image sink in; her breaking into his home, sneaking around only to find him drunk beyond coherency. _My fault?_

It wasn't an odd thing for Fenris to get drunk; he fancied wine, but rarely did he take in more drink than he could handle. He preferred being alert to face any oncoming dangers – he had too many hounds at his back door to rest easily.

I bit into my sandwich; the bread was tacky and the ham unrighteously salty, but it was food and it was filling. Isabela certainly didn't complain about the free lunch.

I glanced at her face when she wouldn't notice me looking; she warred with something – the hints on her face were subtle, but I could spot the signs of a person trying to hold their tongue and failing.

"These reactions that you've been having to him lately have been eating him up. He's _Fenris_ –" she noticed me tense, that time, "-_ like that_. You being absolutely terrified of him isn't doing him any favors. He already thinks pretty low of himself for having those gorgeous tattoos, so you aren't helping his delicate, manly self-esteem any by running away from him like he's some kind of devilish monster."

"You think he has low self-esteem just because he won't sleep with you?" I tried to slow down my words before they all tumbled out into a pile, my speech feeling foreign to my own tongue.

Isabela chuckled as she finished off the last of her sandwich. "Ha. I guess if he doesn't sleep with me, he has to think pretty highly of himself, doesn't he? Bastard. Doesn't know what he's missing."

I smiled, feeling far away, detached. "I never thought you would know so much about feelings, Isabela."

She groaned, putting her feet on the table. I narrowed my eyes – but trembled at the thought of telling her to put them down or, Maker forbid, tossing them off myself – something I would have done before I had awoken in Tevinter.

"I prefer not to think about anyone having feelings, if I can be honest," she said, smoothing out the leather on her boot. "They're messy and impractical – but it's been a while since I've had friends to look out for," she said, suddenly raising her eyes to look into mine before I could cast them away. "You're a grown woman, Hawke. I know you can take care of yourself – we're alike, in that way. But I know how we're different. You care more than I could – and you could use a push when it comes to making a move on the man you care about." I saw her eyebrows rise suggestively before I completely looked way. "Especially when you're giving him a kind of heartache that a whore couldn't cure."

She took her feet off my table and stood. "Looks like rain to me," Isabela said, staring out of the window at the darkening light outside. "I should leave before the bottom falls out. Thanks for the lunch, Hawke." She walked over to me and quickly planted a kiss on my cheek before I could duck away. "Take care of yourself."

She was gone, but her words stayed with me for hours afterward as I sat at the table, rising occasionally to pull some of my baked things from the oven.

**-E-**

_Monster._

_He's not the monster; Danarius is. I am. None of this was his fault. Was it?_

It took a solid hour – if not longer - for all of my sweets to come out – it gave me enough quiet time to myself, to think. As if I hadn't had enough time to myself for the past few days.

The sun faded away and the sky darkened. I pulled my sweet buns from the oven and set them out to cool – perfectly in reach of Sandal or Muffin, should either of them wander into the kitchen and want a snack.

I refused to glance into the corners of the room like a scared animal.

The rain began falling by the bucketful as I finally packed up the cookies, leaving them to sit in the kitchen beside the two uneaten sandwiches. I didn't bother leaving a note for Bodahn – I knew that I had to see Fenris. I had put it off for too long; if I waited much longer, it might be too late.

I had barrels full of rocks on my chest when I thought of him.

I had to apologize to his _face_; I had to look him in his eye and not be afraid. Isabela's visit made me realize that he and I both needed it.

So I left my house, feeling far away from my own head as I carried myself on bare feet across Hightown. Not many nobles were brave enough to stand the sudden storm, but I hardly noticed the raindrops soaking my finery and hair. I already felt cold and hollow without the influence of the chilled water.

My hands began to shake when I turned a corner and could see his front door. I couldn't tell if it was from residual terror or the cold, but the fear was buried in my heart just as assuredly as the rain poured from the sky.

I knocked, this time – but my taps were timid and unsure, delivered from quivering knuckles. I knew that he wouldn't hear them.

I waited, hugging my arms around myself, trying to stiffen my bones and harden my heart from being afraid.

_He isn't going to come._ I knew he wouldn't hear my quiet tapping at his door – but I couldn't muster the willpower to knock again.

_Damn it._ I stared up at the falling rain, feeling small and powerless.

The door handle turned and I jumped, my eyes wide. Fenris opened the door slowly, peering out from the darkness of his home.

Fear seized me but I swallowed past it. _This is Fenris,_ I reminded myself. I refused to fall into my nightmares, refused to run away – so I stood, immobile, tensed to run but denying my body the motion.

I couldn't look in his eyes – but his face appeared to be so haggard and tired that my arms ached to pull him to me even as my breath stuttered in approaching panic.

_I've never knocked before._

"Hawke?" he sounded tired and puzzled. "What do you need?"

I found myself speechless again, my words unavailable. But my heart was slowing and my fear slowly abated until it was manageable as my body accepted the logic my brain was enforcing upon it: _there is nothing to be afraid of here._

After a few moments of hearing nothing but the sound of the rain pattering and splashing down, Fenris sighed. "Come inside, Hawke. You're going to freeze to death."

Shivering and covered in chill bumps, I walked past him and into the house – which was no warmer than the outside.

Fenris was aware of the temperature of his house; he shut the door and walked past me, straight to the stairs, trusting that I would follow him.

I did. As soon as we crossed the doorway into the master bedroom he directed himself to the fire, where he stoked and fed the embers until they crackled and warmed the room. I stayed in the doorway, unsure of myself – I didn't look directly at him, worried that I would scare myself and run away again.

_No. I won't run away._

He pulled a bench closer to the fire. "Sit. You're soaked."

I obeyed immediately, crossing the room and sitting at the wooden bench. The heat from the fire warmed the front of me quickly as Fenris walked away, rummaging somewhere in the room behind me. He returned a moment later with a thick tunic and handed it to me. I slid it over my head, feeling warmer by the second, grateful for the assistance as I tried to keep my teeth from chattering.

He sat across from me, a bit further from the fire. We stayed quiet; I wanted to speak, to put an end to the awkwardness between us, but I couldn't. It felt too real – too much like Tevinter, too much like being back in the clutches of a monster.

I noticed Fenris glance over his shoulder, at the darkened doorway, before visually checking the window and the corners of the room.

_Waiting for slavers to come._

I would never let them take him; I hoped he knew that.

_Not again. Not ever._

I felt closer to him after seeing the automatic motions he went through because I could recognize them; I checked the corners for my demons, too.

I had lived in paralyzing fear for the past few days that Danarius would come for me, that everyone would inflict pain upon me – particularly Fenris. I had no justification for that feeling and even if I tried to explain why I felt that way, no one would understand and I would feel ridiculous.

But Fenris would understand. I feared him in the way he feared mages – like he must have feared me, once. Perhaps still.

Fenris must have endured the same tortures, the cages, the torments, the dehumanizing – only his memory had been taken from him. He didn't have a memory of anything before the torture to keep him going; he didn't have memories of times when contact with another being didn't hurt, when he had loved and had been loved.

All of this time, I had feared a strike from Fenris for being impertinent – but what if he had subconsciously expecting a strike from me? From any mage? _Always?_

_He's tried so hard to be free – but it's so difficult to forget all of the pain and conditioning._

He was thrown into a world with slavery and removed himself from it, but it chased him wherever he ran; he constantly threw glances over his shoulder, looking for demons in corners and alleys.

I could see the patterns in my head, matched them with my own recent fears.

_He's scared and he's lonely and he thinks he's nothing but a slave._

I wanted to rush over and throw my arms around him – but at the same time, I wanted to back away, to run back to my house and crawl under a closet, never to crawl out again.

The silence seemed to drag on long enough for Fenris.

"Was there something you needed, Hawke?" he asked, sitting rigidly a little ways away from me.

I shook my head no, slinging water from my dripping hair – but paused, knowing it was a lie. I needed to be in his presence; I needed to sit here until I stopped being afraid.

_I need it to be real._

_I need to know that I didn't suffer in vain._

He sighed again, slouching in his seat. "What are you doing here?"

I turned to look at him, glancing from his white hair – glowing a warm, pulsing orange from the fire – to his face, to his wardrobe of full, spiky armor.

I opened my mouth and paused, wondering if any sound would make it through my lips.

"I –'m sorry," I mumbled, looking down at my lap.

_For pushing you._

_For not being what you needed._

_For being so full of myself that I tried magic instead of a more intuitive option._

_For running away._

_For everything._

I hoped he understood my apology – but there was no possibility of him ever comprehending the depth of my sorrows.

He didn't say anything else for the rest of the night; after a few hours of staring into the fire, my eyes grew heavy and I sagged, feeling warm and secure, if not safe under his watchful, pensive gaze.

**-E-**

The bed I awoke in wasn't exactly soft, but I still startled when I regained consciousness. Disoriented, my eyes snapped open and I jumped, scooting until my back hit the headboard. My heart pounded while my eyes darted around the room, searching – benches – the fire had gone out – a wardrobe – a pile of rags? – dust – a night table -

It took more than a handful of minutes for me to gradually become aware of where I was. When I realized that I had fallen asleep at Fenris' stolen mansion, I breathed a short sigh of relief before tensing again.

I didn't see him in the room – not by the fire, nor beside the bed – I even checked under the bed, for good measure. The sun was barely climbing in the sky when I found the note on the side table.

My hands shook as I quickly grabbed the note, lifting it close and concentrating on the squinty penmanship and clipped sentences.

_Hawk,_

_I am away. I have a job. I will be back._

_Fenris_

I didn't realize I was smiling until I had already put the note down. I had forgotten all about our reading lessons – but I could tell he hadn't; he had improved on his own. I spied a few books cluttered around the small space that he frequented and felt proud.

_This is what I always wanted, isn't it? Him to grow and be content._ The smile slid from my face as the thought sunk in, falling away into the pits of my mind. _But he can't be content in this side of life, can he? His happiness is rotted by the horrors he has endured and the tigers at his back._

I didn't want to leave. I wanted to be there, in his room, keeping the fire warm. Waiting for his return.

However much I wanted to stay, the darkness and emptiness of the mansion didn't appeal to me. But I still had enough wit to realize that pulling the two of us apart was akin to fighting nature herself – a losing battle, as we were drawn together inevitably, like water to the soil; no matter the toils of man, no matter the decade, we would meet as naturally as dew met the grass.

I wasn't afraid of that – I wasn't afraid of Fenris. But forgetting the flood – forgetting the horrifying flash storms – would be difficult, even in the presence of the soft pattering of warm rain drops.

I pulled his tunic over my head and folded it neatly on the bed – I took the note with me, tucking it firmly into my hand before I descended the stairs and exited the entryway, taking the turns to my house in the dewy morning, thinking very deeply on nature and the inevitable course of life.

Fenris and I would have to come later; until then, I had a few other apologies to make.

* * *

><p><strong>See! They're making up –kind of. They still have a little way to go. At least she didn't scream and run away this time, amirite?<strong>

**With Inquisition just around the corner, I want to know: what is your first Inquisitor going to be? (Race, class, gender, etc.) (because if you guys are anything like me, there will be, like, 20 playthroughs of this damn game)**


	38. 33 Heavy

**Everyone seems to want a female mage first! But we're divided by the race of mage. Human? Kossith? Elf? All three? Who knows!**

* * *

><p>"<em>I watched you sleeping quietly in my bed<br>You don't know this now, but there's some things that need to be said  
>And it's all that I can hear, it's more than I can bare.<em>

_What if I fall and hurt myself,_  
><em>would you know how to fix me?<em>  
><em>What if I went and lost myself,<em>  
><em>would you know where to find me?<em>  
><em>If I forgot who I am,<em>  
><em>would you please remind me?<em>  
><em>Without you, things go hazy."<em>

_"Hazy," _Rosi Golan

* * *

><p><strong>33. Heavy<strong>

* * *

><p>I tapped on the crusty wooden door, knocking dust from it in the process. I waited patiently – the lantern was lit, but I didn't want to barge inside and startle him. A few moments passed me by – I heard someone crying somewhere in the distance and shivered.<p>

_Darktown is creepy._

Not wanting to bait fate, I budged the door open, parcel in hand; the rusted hinges creaked, echoing in the dreary hole at the end of Darktown.

"Anders?" I whispered, casting my gaze around the clinic. All the beds were empty, even though the day was still fresh. I pushed the door aside and tread beyond it, managing to shut it mostly behind me. Curious at the lack of the other mage in the clinic, I continued timidly stepping forward, suspicious of my surroundings.

I held back a sigh when my eyes finally found him, tucked behind a large, stone pillar in a back corner of the clinic and sprawled out on a very uncomfortable-looking chair. His mouth hung open and his ponytail had fallen out of its holding, haphazardly sticking to the wood of the chair.

"Anders," I breathed through a sigh, holding my parcel tighter. I looked around, not wanting to stare at him while he was sleeping – there was a table not too far away, so I approached it and released my small, boxed burden onto it. I cast about for paper and ink – I found thin parchment and a quill and inkpot and pulled them over, writing out a note for him when he awoke:

_Anders,_

_I've heard that beds are softer than chairs. Perhaps you haven't. Should you need a soft place to rest, my estate is full of such indulgences and is open to you at any time, granted that Aveline doesn't run you off._

_The package is for __you__. Please don't give it to any urchin boys._

_Hawke_

I retired the quill and took a few steps away from the table – and collided right into another low table, sending an iron pot that sat atop it quivering before toppling down on the other side, making a racket.

I flinched at the harsh sound and Anders flailed awake, vaulting to his feet.

"Templar?" he shouted, digging around on his back, groping for a staff that wasn't there. His eyes were bleary and wild. "Who? What?"

I fisted my hands in an attempt to keep myself from running out of the clinic. "Just me," I said quietly, through clenched teeth, but caught his attention. Anders' honey-colored eyes landed on me and the relief seemed to overcome him – he sat back on his chair and rubbed his face with both hands, stretching. My brief fear drained.

"Maker, Hawke," he groaned, straightening his ponytail. "You scared the life out of me."

"I'm sorry," I said, wringing my hands. "I was just leaving-"

"No, by all means – sit down. I'm definitely not going back to sleep any time soon."

"Sorry," I apologized again, dragging a splintery-looking wooden chair closer to Anders to sit on.

Anders waved me off, stretching again. "I haven't had a scare like that in a while," he said, ending his sentence with a short laugh. "You know how to get the blood pumping, don't you?"

I waited for him to situate himself.

"It's good to see you up and around - and talking. Do you feel all right? Any dizzy spells or periods of lethargy?"

I shook my head, smiling at the inevitable concerned questions from the healer.

"Well, that's good, at least. I heard about what happened at the coast and worried there might be a relapse from the stress. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

I nodded; I felt healthy – if not quite mentally whole.

Anders peered at me, disbelieving of my response. But after a few moments of him inspecting the surface of me, he seemed to agree with my claim of being "all right" and continued with his line of thought.

"What is it you wanted from me?" he finally asked, looking slightly more awake than he had a few moments ago.

"Nothing," I said quickly, cutting my eyes to the parcel on his table. He didn't notice. "I – actually – " I held my tongue, wondering if my request would be too much to ask.

I hadn't planned to ask it of him when I set out to deliver my "care package" of cutlets, bread and cookies, but now that I faced him and he was lucid, it seemed the most prudent thing to request.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting straighter and looking adequately concerned. "Is it about what happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes?" I replied, unsure. "No. It's more of… a side effect."

_It's not like I can ask Merrill,_ I reasoned, staring at his feathery pauldrons. _She wouldn't know where to begin – and would probably just get me into trouble again._

He raised his eyebrows – an action that seemed out of place on a face that usually crinkled in sorrow or worry.

"Will you help me?" I blurted, averting my eyes to the floor.

"Of course, Hawke," Anders said smoothly, without pause. "Anything you need. Within reason. Would you just tell me what you need? It isn't like you to beat around the bush. It's making me nervous."

"Sorry," I repeated myself, feeling stupid. "Would you mind helping me…with my magic?"

Anders considered the question. "Your magic?" He looked around me, at the door – checking to see if it were shut. Looking back to me, his face clouded with intensity as he realized the implications of such a request. "Can you not…control it?" he asked, voice quiet.

I bunched my hands on the fabric of my finery, having left my house in what I had worn the night before. _When will I get my life back together?_ "It's…difficult. And different. Ever since…it happened, I've been scared."

Anders immediately knew what I referred to. "Scared? Of your own magic?" I could he was bewildered but reining in his automatic reaction in order to help me feel more at ease.

Grateful for his discretion, I nodded, feeling slightly bolder.

"I thought it was odd," he said, rubbing his fingertips against his lips. "How you responded to my magic after you woke. Like it physically harmed you just by being activated. Is that why? Did the magic hurt you?"

I shook my head – it wasn't exactly a lie. "It only startled me. Its presence still startles me." Feeling the Fade after so long, remembering the sparks of magic that injured me, caused bodily harm, permanent scarring… I absently touched the side of my face, ran my hand over my head, feeling the vibrant, clean and lengthy hair, remembering the burning, the scars… "I know that it isn't safe for me to fear it this much and I wanted your help to… grow accustomed to it again."

Anders looked at me for a while; I shrank beneath his heavy, butterscotch gaze. "Whatever happened in the Emporium – it really did hurt you, didn't it?"

I didn't answer.

Anders sighed and stood. "I'll help you." He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robe and tucked a feather on his pauldrons back into place. "Of course, I will. I would be a rubbish friend if I didn't – especially after all you've done to help me over the years."

I stood hesitantly with him, confused – but he walked past me to the door, opening it slightly to reveal a dirty elf boy on the other side. Scrawny and short, the elf only came to chest height on Anders and was about a fourth of his width.

"Hello," Anders said, smiling. "I noticed you have been hanging around my door – is there something you need?"

"M-my sister," the elf stammered, intimidated by the mage.

"Where is your sister? You can't bring her here?"

The elf stammered out a reply and Anders reentered the clinic to grab his staff and a mana potion.

"I'll show myself out," I said, though I doubted Anders listened. I moved towards the door.

"Oh, right – sorry, Hawke. I'll help you – just come in any time, really. I'm usually doing some kind of magic in here, so whenever you feel like it – really, it's no problem," Anders kept speaking quickly, seemingly doing a checklist in his head of necessary items to bring to help the boy's sister.

I smiled, feeling far away. "I'll be back, then." I left the clinic before he could; retreating towards Hightown, back to home. I turned when I reached the far stairs, watching as the lantern switched off and Anders locked the doors. I worried about my friend – we had a habit of walking into traps – but he was a capable man and didn't need to be coddled.

I sighed and pushed onward, to the lift that would take me away from the dreary lands of Darktown.

-**H**-

The world felt less real within the walls of my estate.

I wandered around my home, drifting from object to object, never settling in one place. Unable to find comfort in the walls, the floors, the books or statues.

I hadn't eaten all day; I knew that I should feel hungry, but the only thing I felt in my stomach was unease. Nothing felt quite real enough to me.

I sat in my library, staring up at the thousands of books that I had no recollection of acquiring – but I wasn't satisfied for long; I fluttered around to two statues that marked two different occasions that meant a lot to me, touching the stone, guessing the weight and how long it would have taken to make such pieces.

I wondered if I had even experienced those memories – had I ever even been to Orlais?

I inhaled slowly, wondering if everything were a hazy dream – my entire life, my existence, my presence in the estate.

Who said any of it was real? Why did anything in my life have to have substance if what I considered to be an important part of it didn't _actually_ happen?

Being aimless left me without stability. I needed to return to doing odd jobs for the lazy people around the city – but the majority of those jobs required violence and magic casting; two things I couldn't trust myself to perform in my current state of mind.

My hands ached to be useful in an environment where I was rendered useless.

And then I had a thought – _Fenris is gone today, isn't he?_

Struck with an idea, I felt giddy as I gathered a few necessary supplies for my plan – a foolish, but well-intentioned plan that I would probably regret later. However, as I knew it would immediately end my endless pacing around my house, I didn't fight against my new purpose as I selected my supplies and bound them together. Before leaving the house, I donned an old set of clothing that I had worn when I had smuggled for Athenril – it was ratty and riddled with rips and old blood stains, so I didn't feel bad about abusing it further.

I slung the larger supplies over my back – the mop, the broom, and dustpan – while I carried a bucket full of lye and lard in one hand and a bucket full of rags in the other. My feet were still bare – I caused a stir in the noblemen whom I passed, but I paid them no heed as they stared, guffawing at my lack of taste and the instruments I bore.

I didn't knock on his door; even if he were home – and I doubted that he was - I didn't wish to alert him to my presence. So I snuck in, tiptoeing for good measure, wondering where I would begin.

I wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, staring at the dusty fixtures on the walls, the toppled statues around the corners – then berated myself. If I merely wanted to pace around, there had been no need to leave my own house.

So I picked a room on the opposite end of the mansion – a room full of dusty bottles of wine and ancient-looking barrels. I sighed when I saw the dead bodies – little more than skeletons and cartilage, at this point.

_Really, Fenris? You couldn't be bothered to dispose of the bodies after three years?_

I was disgusted, yet oddly amused at the same time. I released the mop and broom from my back and set down my buckets and went to work removing the dead bodies.

I had no idea where unidentified dead bodies were normally dumped – I certainly was never in charge of cleaning up the messes I created when I killed people – so I began at a disadvantage. I wasn't disheartened, however; I started by piling all of the bodies together. Any valuables they may have been wearing had been obviously stripped off them long ago, as I found no coin or enchanted rings or even weapons as I kicked them all onto a pile.

"I'll deal with you later," I murmured to the pile of three bodies, now in the hallway.

I took up my broom and, smothering a smile, set to work.

-**H**-

Hours later, with tired, aching bones, I had made it through two entire rooms – I had dusted every wine bottle, polished every candelabra, and blown out every cobweb. I had a large pile of bodies to contest with, but the rugs were beaten and the cold stone floors that had pained the arches of my feet were swept.

Success blossomed in my weary bones – I had done something productive without harming anyone or myself, and Fenris would never know. Or, perhaps he wouldn't know immediately. I had been careful to clean rooms that I knew he didn't frequent and doubted the likelihood of him appearing to darken any of the doorways.

The sun began its descent as I stood and stretched, hearing my joints pop. I still had two or three things to do in the room; I was unsure of when Fenris would return, so I didn't know if I could take my time or if I had to rush and leave to avoid being caught.

I sat on a chair with a cushioned bottom – a luxurious thing, really, with a winged back and beautiful upholstery that had been ruined by moths and oils. I sighed when I rested fully against the chair's back, feeling content and accomplished, happy to have spent my time doing _something_ instead of just pitying myself.

This, at least, felt real to me. With each stroke of the broom or mop, I felt somehow less frightened. Perhaps I felt less likely to be punished if I did my duties?

I sighed, not wanting to believe that – but I couldn't argue with how I felt. I rested my head against the back of the chair and tried not to think about it as I took a short rest, staring up at the ceiling.

Looking at the dull color of the ceiling as it darkened in the falling light of the day, I began feeling terribly…_homesick._

Not for Tevinter, or the mansions, or - Maker forbid – _Danarius_ – no. I didn't miss any of the work or the places.

I missed Fenris.

I missed the Fenris I had loved – the Fenris who made me love him; forced me to tumble head-first into a losing battle against fates. A little hardened with a dash of naïveté; calm and caring, joking and tough – a boy with no idea of the hardships that awaited him in the future.

_"Even if I were branded, wouldn't I be fated to meet you in the future?"_

I curled my knees into my chest, tucking them under my chin as I remembered the hopeful thought he had shared with me in the forest.

_Even if we fail now, won't we eventually end up together?_

The Fenris I had known in the past wouldn't have understood the differences between him and the Fenris of the present. He loved me in his time, but – it could never be the same. Fenris was too hardened; too jaded, too untrusting.

I couldn't imagine my memories of the branded Fenris ever fading – the kicks, the commands, the pain – but there was a sharp dissonance, as I craved his presence as hard as I feared it. Because I _knew_ how blissful being at his side could be, now. I _knew_ how well we fit together, how caring and passionate he could be with no bars to hold him.

_He needs someone._ I thought of Fenris spending his days holed up in the dreary mansion with no comfort outside of a dusty bottle.

I covered my face with my palms. _I can't._ I ran a nervous hand through my hair, feeling for the rough scars with my fingers and letting my hand drop when I felt none.

_Maybe Isabela should have stayed with him._ I couldn't be that someone for him; I didn't trust myself with _myself_, let alone Fenris – who had a _real_ reason for being pained.

But the thought of his arms wrapped around me again – holding me tight, chest to chest, naked and warmed by his skin and the light of a fire made me shiver and ache. To emulate the feeling, I wrapped my arms around my own waist, grabbing fistfuls of fabric with my fingers.

My arms and legs ached; my neck was sore from craning it and holding it drooped over floors all afternoon. I relaxed, trying to forget it all – forget everything but the feeling of those strong, warm arms wrapped around me.

-**H**-

I awoke in an abrupt panic, sitting up, disoriented. The only light was across the room – a roaring, merry fire.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes blearily with a yawn – I held my breath mid-stretch, frozen in place.

I didn't remember lighting a fire.

I took in my surroundings and realized that I hadn't made it to a bed, either.

I turned my head slowly, to the chair that I knew would be beside the bed. There Fenris sat, in full armor – though his blade rested against the wall. After my brief glance at his face, I noticed that his eyes were tired and his skin dirty.

I quickly moved to leave the bed – feeling wrong, _so wrong_, sitting in his bed while he was forced into the chair – I flung the ratty cover off and frantically scooted -

"Hawke," Fenris said with a scratchy voice. I froze. "You don't have to leave."

_Does he want me to stay?_

I fought the urge to run – or to fling myself to my knees and beg forgiveness for intruding.

"It's already well past midnight," he said. "If you plan to leave, let me escort you home." He leaned onto his knees with a sigh, pressing both hands against the bridge of his nose. After a few quiet moments where he rubbed his angry, tired eyes and face, he spoke again. "You didn't even bring a _weapon_. I thought – there was a broom and a mop, but no staff." Fenris exhaled deeply through his nose, a sardonic smile on his face. "You realize that there could be slavers here at any moment? That there is never a moment when I don't expect Danarius to tear down my door?"

My heart bounded at his small confession – thinking of Danarius breaking in while I was sleeping, looking for Fenris – compiled with the reality that Fenris was mildly upset with me - made me jittery.

He sighed again – a long, weary affair with a snort trailing at the end. "Thank you for cleaning. Though this isn't technically my mansion, I _am_ living here… You and buckets of soap was the last thing I planned to find when I reentered the mansion this evening."

I stared at the bed, still warring with myself over whether or not to rise off of it.

Disappointment crushed my chest as my lips trembled – I had been doing so well; with one sudden appearance from Fenris, my entire world careened into confusion again.

Fenris noticed my silence. Of course he did.

"Why won't you speak to me?" he asked. I heard him shift – but I had looked away, focusing my entire being away from the man not five feet away from me. "You speak to everyone else – Varric said you brought him a box of cookies earlier this morning and carried on decent conversation. Why not me?"

I could understand why he was put out. I spent the better part of four years just trying to get him to speak with me – of trading jokes and stories – and now I couldn't summon a word.

My lips trembled. He was asking for words; my words, and I couldn't give them to him.

_What does it matter, anyway?_

Nothing I could say will ever be enough.

My chest splintered as my head dropped. No explanation rose to my lips; no sound would make it past them even if one did arise.

He sighed again at my continued silence – and muffled a yawn directly after. "I'm sorry, Hawke. Whatever misdeed I have performed against you – whatever it was that I have done, I apologize. Please, tell me what I have done so that I can atone for it."

I covered my face with a hand, still facing away from him.

_It wasn't you._

_It's all my fault – I'm stupid and selfish; I expected you to automatically care about me, even though I knew absolutely nothing of the reality of the horrors you endured._

But that wasn't true – I could almost feel the hatred, the bitterness I held for him.

_Why is he okay?_

_Why isn't he broken like I am?_

_Because he can't remember what it was like to be without his pains?_

The pressure built too high; I wanted to say something, wanted to reassure him – reassure myself – or bite out a scathing remark or witty retort – _something, anything -_

"None of this is like you," he bit out suddenly, sitting up, drawing my attention. "The fear, the cowering, the lack of chatter. In the span of two days, you completely changed." His face formed a snarl and I inched away, one foot touching the stone floor on the other side of the bed as my heart resumed a quick pound. "You can't tell me that it wasn't the magic. Whatever you picked up in that _Emporium_," he spat out the world like one of his Arcanum curses, "cast a spell over you that has made you this way."

_Fenris._

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from it."

_It wasn't your fault._

I looked at the skinny windows and the door, feeling nervous. I could no longer look in Fenris' direction – with the threat of Danarius looming over the mansion, the situation felt too real, with him nearby.

I fidgeted, inching closer to the opposite side of the bed.

"Will you at least give me a hint of what's wrong? What I've done?" Fenris asked, standing.

I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault – I wanted to tell him that I could make everything better, I just needed _time_.

And then a crash and a loud curse from downstairs and I bolted for the door, hearing loud, bare footsteps behind me.

The notable difference between my footsteps and his were that mine didn't halt when we entered the room and spotted Isabela, looking miffed and righting a fallen statue. I ran straight out of the door, my heart pounding, hot tears squeezing from my eyes, feeling more stupid and selfish than I ever had before.

-**H**-

I sat in one of my cellars, the hot, musty air clouding in my lungs. It was as far away from the main area of my estate that I could get – one of the last places anyone would bother looking for me.

My knees were drawn to my chest and my back was pressed into a corner as I waited, _waited_ for Danarius to come.

_He has to know._

I wondered if Fenris felt this way all the time and hugged my knees tighter to me.

I thought that I could forget the fear of the inevitable – we were both _free_, both fully capable of defending ourselves from slavers. I wasn't even being hunted at all.

I _knew _this.

But the fear, the panic was so _hard_ to release or forget.

I couldn't sleep that night. I didn't know how long I waited down there – dreading the moment when I would be recaptured.

_Never free. Even when we thought we were, we had no chance._

My stomach rumbled; dust collected on my skin, making me feel grimy and filthy, but I still couldn't move. I cowered, waiting, dreading the moment I would be found.

The longer I sat, the more foolish I felt as the fear slowly drained and reality began to swell.

_No one is coming for me._

_I'm a free woman. I've always been free._

I unfolded myself, stretching out my legs and taking a deep breath of musty air. My head swam – I needed to eat.

But I didn't want to move just yet. I felt safe deep in the cellar, the four solid, unthreatening walls around me.

So I stayed – just a few hours more, until the hunger pains evaporated and my head fogged.

_Stop being so afraid,_ I told myself, coercing my body to form a position that wasn't cowered.

I had to go see Anders; I had told him that I would. I _needed_ to go.

But I remembered that I never finished cleaning the third room in his mansion…

That was the thought that perked me up – unfinished work that needed to be done; work that made me feel better, that got me moving and gave me purpose.

So I rose, my joints cracking, my bones weary and my eyes tired, making a stop in the estate's kitchen to polish off a roast that someone – most likely Bodahn – had prepared for a meal.

I noticed stacks of paper on my work table as I tread through the great room, but ignored them all in favor of the door.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry for the wait, but I'm so done with this chapter. Really, I wanted to add onto it and make it longer, but adding more to right here just feels awkward and I'm tired of trying to edit it and of Hawke being all bleh so I'm saying it's done for now but will possibly be (heavily) edited later when I have a mind to return to it.<strong>


	39. 34 Parasite

**Hello newcomers and welcome back old friends! Yes, I do have more chapters to add to this and no, I will never abandon it! I just like to…take breaks and forget it exists I'msosorryi'mterrible**

**Sorry that this is so short and so late; I wanted to make it longer and go over it a few times, but I felt like I held onto it for long enough. I don't know when the next update will be because hopefully (fingers crossed) I will be trying NaNo again this year to try and get back into the swing of writing every day.**

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><p><em>"The brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body." – <em>Arthur Schopenhaur

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><p><strong>34. Parasite<strong>

Magic clung hot in the air around me as I left the clinic; if a Templar wandered by, he would undoubtedly realize what was going on there. Anders was always healing and performing magic; there was no way the Templars didn't know about his presence in Darktown if not because of the smell alone.

I pondered that as I carried myself to the lift that would take me away from Darktown, wondering if the Templars did, in fact, turn a blind eye to Anders' clinic because of all the good work he was doing. I couldn't imagine Meredith not knowing of his existence; she had a vice grip on the city of Kirkwall, squeezing and loosening her fist as needed.

_I_ certainly had slipped through the cracks.

Inside of Anders' clinic, I had found myself able to conjure spells – after the first hesitant flame, everything clicked into place.

_I am a mage. I wield magic. Nothing is hindering me._

Anders asked me why I thought I needed his help – I seemed perfectly able. I felt able, at least. The magic came so naturally, but it was such a scary, hazardous thing to feel tingling beneath my skin. I didn't know how I should feel, knowing I had that much power – as much as any magister.

If I were in Tevinter as an apprentice, I could have slaves – could ruin lives with what power that I could wield. The knowledge of the potential withered me. After a few hours of practicing magic by heating and cooling water, I soon felt secure enough to leave, finally feeling the trust in myself that I had sorely missed.

The lift creaked and protested when I boarded it. I silently reassured myself that I could never be what Danarius was – that _I_ ruled my magic and that I wasn't corrupt.

_I am the one in control._

I walked the entire length to Hightown, climbing up endless stairs that marked the difference between the three towns of Kirkwall, my staff heavy on my back as I slowly made my way through the city.

He wasn't present when I entered, which was just as well; I wanted to finish cleaning up the oils on the floor from the recently removed bodies and it would be better if I wasn't distracted by him.

I worked for most of the morning and left before I thought he would arrive, fleeing back to my estate and feeling more like a whole person.

**-P-**

The furious redhead slammed her feet down on my floor as she stomped about the room. I flinched only slightly with each snap of boot against stone.

"You do realize that these jobs aren't going to complete themselves, don't you?" Aveline said. "You signed up for this, Hawke, when you decided to live in Hightown and be a part of the gentry. But you cannot keep this house indefinitely without paying taxes. I've been watching and I don't like what I've seen."

I didn't say anything, because I knew she was right – I needed to get out. I needed to accomplish something real.

"So," Aveline said, clearing her throat – realizing how harsh she sounded, she made an effort to lessen the frustration in her voice. "I'm putting my foot down. You have to get out of this house and do something productive. No "if"s or "but"s, just go and do your jobs."

"Okay," I said quietly, lacing my fingers together.

"Okay?" Aveline asked, bemused. "Well. Okay, then. That was easier than I thought."

"Any suggestions?" I asked.

"There are a few minor problems I could point you to until you get back on your feet," she said, walking to my journaling table and pulling out a piece of paper. "Just give me a moment while I organize some of these…"

**-P-**

Clearing out the Bone Pit – again – felt like grunt work, but it was work. It kept all of us busy; killing ridiculously large spiders and thugs was very normal and came part and parcel with being grunts like us in this age.

But we weren't grunts, and I knew that – Isabela, Varric, Merrill and me – we were people; we stood out in crowds, we drew attention, we could never quite blend in; none of us could. It never seemed like a burden, before. It didn't now, either; having friends like them at my back lent me strength to worry less about being noticed in a crowd.

Isabela and Varric kept the conversation topics teasing and light; Merrill kept my mind off of unsavory things. It was good to get out and work myself back into the groove of work and the familiar.

When we returned, I made sure to walk Merrill home; I felt protective over the young, pretty elf in a way I recognized, and I hung around when she invited me in to talk. She showed me her mirror, the frightening and delicate work of mystery in her home – and asked me to go with her to the Dalish for a tool. I accepted and told her I would be back tomorrow and left, wanting to get out of Lowtown before dark.

I crossed my arms and my leathers creaked together, thinking about Merrill being excited at my acceptance.

_Would I have been able to say no?_ I thought to myself, gazing towards the stairs leading to Darktown. Anders never said anything about my gift or my note; he was always embarrassed to receive gifts and offerings of the sort, but I knew he appreciated it.

When we returned the next day, Merrill was upset and asked to be alone – but still thanked me for my help. The incident with the Varterral weighed heavy on her mind, and I didn't begrudge her alone time.

The day was young and I was itching to get back out and do something, so I called on Fenris to join us.

Every one of my companions were startled by Fenris joining us in the Hanged Man around noon, called upon by a messenger I had sent. Fenris himself looked surprised to find himself taking the seat beside me; Varric tried to hide his scrutiny, but I could feel his eyes on my face, waiting for the outburst or a flicker of fear.

I didn't give any of them any indication that Fenris' presence bothered me – because, deep down, it didn't.

I still couldn't force out any words in his presence – but I paid for their bills, nonetheless. Varric griped and Fenris refused to take my pity, but I just sat and smiled and gave the waitress my hard-earned gold.

We set out directly after our lunch to perform a few more jobs; quick and easy, in and out.

Everything felt normal.

Fenris didn't make eye contact. I couldn't manage to muster more than a single word, but we didn't need them to do our job; we were an efficient team. Isabela and Varric, however, never let a stale moment pass and filled the air with flirting and light-hearted jokes.

My heart raced whenever his markings would glow; he would shout and enter the battle as a glowing blur and my bones would freeze for an instant before I lurched into battle, myself. The day waned and Isabela griped about being hungry and Varric griped about needing a pint, so we returned to the Hanged Man late in the evening, bloodstained and tired.

"Anything worth knowing about tomorrow?" Varric asked, reclining in his preferred chair.

I shook my head, averting my eyes to my beer. "I planned to see Aveline," I said quietly, fingering my mug. "She was adamant that I get out of the house."

"She's not wrong," Varric said, taking a sip from his glass. "You look a lot better. Considering that you're covered in blood and look tired as hell, that's saying something."

I smiled half-heartedly and looked up – only to catch my gaze on Fenris' across the table, staring intently into me. Embarrassed at being caught, he looked away, towards the wall – his ears dipped and turned vaguely pink.

Isabela tore through her meat and bread, devouring her food as if she'd never seen the likes of it before. She moaned with every full bite, lusty and lewd, as always. Varric laughed and jotted down a few notes in a journal, teasing her idly about her mouth being accustomed to being full, to which she returned with a few winks and thick kisses around the salty meat.

I made eye accidental contact with Fenris again and we both diverted our eyes. He cleared his throat.

"I've been…reading a book."

My head refused to raise, but my curiosity strengthened until I had to look up.

"It's been an interesting process," he said, looking to the side of me. "Some of the words are difficult to understand, but I appreciate the experience."

"What book?" I asked, nearly biting through my tongue in my haste to push the words out.

His eyes snapped to mine, his full attention on me. "Shartan's, of course."

My gaze dropped again, but I couldn't force myself to be dour.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly so that Varric or Isabela wouldn't hear. "I did not mean to frighten you the other night."

"You didn't scare me," I said quickly – too quickly. His mouth quirked.

"Ah, yes," he said, leaning forward. "I forgot that running from my house in a fit of panic is a routine."

I frowned, staring down at the table. Fenris sighed.

"Forgive me. That was unfair."

I shook my head – no, it wasn't unfair; I was acting ridiculously lately. But I didn't know how to put my problem into words.

It was so much more than fear – it was self hatred, disappointment, bitterness, contempt and love that kept me from him.

_I sat in my cellar for two days because it felt safer than being in the open._

Isabela polished off her food and made a few bawdy comments about meat and her mouth; I rolled my eyes and Varric chuckled, but Fenris looked pensive across the table. Varric bought another round for the four of us and I quickly finished off my first, guzzling the warm, awful-tasting brew.

_Come to think of it, all types of beer taste horrifying,_ I thought, staring into my mug. _Even the ones that are promising._

I sighed, feeling tired. After I downed the next beer, I said goodbye to my group and thanked Varric for the drink.

"The pleasure was all mine, Hawke. It's not every day I get a beautiful, rich woman at my table."

The compliment caught me by surprise and I chuckled, feeling strange – but the returned smile on Varric's face assured me that my chuckle was rewarding.

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Isabela said, stealing Varric's beer and downing it in a single gulp – much to Varric's objection. I stood and walked out, feeling light, knowing Fenris would be hot on my heels.

He trailed me all the way to my estate – which wasn't exactly out of the way, but I still paused at my door, hesitating as he stood near.

"Goodnight, Hawke," he said in a low voice.

"Goodnight," I whispered back, touching the door handle. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he returned, walking away from me. I smiled and opened my door, feeling like the world was slowly righting itself.

**-P-**

It grew increasingly difficult to sleep at night. I fidgeted and tossed, trying to force myself to sleep on my bed – but I kept thinking about Fenris, the present and the past…and Danarius.

I hadn't swept or dusted or cleaned at all that day; I wondered if that was the reason behind my restlessness. Despite my lack of cleaning, I felt fulfilled; I had gotten out of the house and accomplished something and still I couldn't find sleep.

So I sighed, grabbed my staff and some soap and walked out of my estate.

**-P-**

"Isn't it a little late?"

I jumped, spilling my water all over the stone floor and nearly jumping to my feet – and then I calmed myself, remaining on my knees. I cut my eyes over to Fenris, leaning on the doorframe, looking ruffled and sleepy.

I quietly resumed my work of scrubbing the floor.

Fenris sighed and took a few steps closer to me – he seemed to waver for a moment before taking a seat near me, quietly watching me work.

After a half an hour of watching me work my way across the floor, he finally spoke again. "Why are you doing this?"

I paused in my scrubbing for a moment. "It calms me."

"Cleaning?" he said, leaning forward in his chair. I resumed my work as he stared thoughtfully at the wall.

I had made it several feet further before he spoke again. "You don't have to clean this mansion, Hawke."

"I know," I said, sitting up and wiping sweat from my brow.

"We had a long day," he said reasonably. "You should be getting rest."

I sighed and shook my head, remembering the frustrating tossing and turning. "I can't."

"Why not?" he asked, concerned. "Is it because of the magic?"

I debated upon how much I wanted to tell him – how much he needed to know. "Yes."

"You can't sleep," he said, bare toes curling on the floor. "You've slept here."

I shrugged. When I slept over, I was usually satisfied from cleaning – no one would hurt me if everything was clean and in order.

I continued my cleaning, making it clear to the other side of the room; Fenris stayed stoically in his chair, upright and rigid. I sighed and stretched, hearing my back pop.

"Will you sleep now?" he asked, sounding tired and defeated – as if prepared to wait up with me if I said no.

I nodded, stood and collected my things in a pile. I caught Fenris by surprise by acquiescing so easily; I retrieved my staff, tucked my arms to my chest and pushed through the door, Fenris zooming after me.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his dark brow furrowed.

"Home," I replied tonelessly, feeling chilled.

"No," Fenris said immediately. "Stay."

His order compelled me to obey, so I didn't take another step. My eyes closed as I accepted his command.

"Please," he tacked on, stepping around my still form. "You're too tired to walk home. You may take my bed for the night."

I turned and looked at his feet. "Where will you sleep?" I asked quietly, my voice cracking.

"Elsewhere," Fenris said, inviting me forward. I followed his directive, walking dutifully toward his bedroom at the highest, furthest point of the mansion.

It was a long, silent walk; when we reached the room, I leaned my staff against the wall and removed my boots as he stoked the dying fire.

I crawled into his bed, hastily pulling a blanket tightly around me – not feeling the urge to defy his wish for me to take his place in the bed. I heard him throw another log onto the fire and stared at the ceiling, waiting – but not knowing what for.

"Hawke," he said, voice raspy. He waited – for a reply, I assumed.

"Fenris," I replied, my voice weak.

"Thank you."

I didn't know his reasoning for thanking me – had he not already thanked me for cleaning his house?

But then I thought about our day – how I had actually spoken to him, how I hadn't run away – how I had given into him without panicking.

"You're welcome," I whispered, rolling onto my side – but his shadow had exited the room.

I stayed awake for a while longer after he left, worrying. I wondered if he had another bed made up to sleep in, if he had a fire or a blanket to shield himself from the dank cold of the stone mansion. I debated with myself over whether or not to go to him, to force him into his bed and walk home – but somewhere between my concern and my fancies, I found sleep.  
><strong><br>-P-**

The sun rose, and I, with it. I stretched and threw the covers off, embracing the chill of the morning.

I didn't know how sleeping in Fenris' bed was any different, but I couldn't manage to fall asleep in my own, anymore. I yawned and straightened the sheets before tiptoeing from the room, collecting my staff on the way.

Fenris caught me coming down the stairs, the sight of him and his stark white tattoos sending a shock through my belly before I could control my reaction. "Good morning," he said, hair ruffled and eyes dark with drowsiness.

"Morning," I replied, feeling chipper despite my split-second gut panic.

"What are we doing today?" he asked, following me to the front door. I paused, trying not to smile at his choice of pronoun.

I thought for a moment before pushing open the door. "Breakfast," I said hesitantly. "And then we're going to visit Aveline."

He followed me to my estate and waited patiently while I prepared a simple breakfast of fruit and cheese and rolls; we both ate our fill and I left him to redress in heavier, more protective robes and leathers.

When we finally left towards the other end of High Town, I felt able. I felt ready. I would face the day head on, sure in my strides and unflinching – for the most part.

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><p><strong>I'm sorry if it reads choppily or if there are a lot of errors; I get exhausted when I have to write these kind of filler chapters that don't really have any meat in them, which is why I get so disinterested. I don't want it to seem like she's progressing too quickly... but I also reeeally don't care to linger and fall into a bigger rut. I'm sure you all understand! Rest assured, I won't give up on Anachronism any time soon.<br>**

_**Who do you look forward to romancing most in Inquisition?**_


	40. 35 Confusion

**We're definitely thinking about Cullen and Iron Bull – I personally have my eye on Sera and Solas. **_**Hnnng**_**.**

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><p><em>"I tremble.<em>  
><em>They're gonna eat me alive.<em>  
><em>If I stumble<em>  
><em>they're gonna eat me alive.<em>  
><em>Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?<em>  
><em>Beating like a hammer.<em>  
><em>Help, I'm alive<em>  
><em>my heart keeps beating like a hammer."<em>

"Help I'm Alive" –Metric

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><p><strong>35. Confusion<strong>

I didn't bother sneaking into his mansion when I came over later in the evening. We had spent the day trying to convince Aveline to confess her feelings for guardsman Donnic; it wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, but it felt rewarding to see them overcome the awkwardness of the situation – although Isabela's quips, while hilarious, did provide a decent push for Aveline to take charge.

I had sent my crew on their merry way once we had finished up – we all stunk to high heaven and couldn't stand being around each other by the day's end.

After a bath, I didn't even spare a glance for my bed before I was out of my bedroom and back out on the streets, headed toward the other side of Hightown. I was barefoot – I had worn shoes all day, but forgot to put them back on after my bath. Either way, a giddy feeling manifested in my stomach – distinctly different from the fear I had felt when I approached the mansion just a few days before.

_Fenris will not hurt me._ Something about the way he handled me, the way he silently understood what I needed – and the way he protected me in combat – forced me to realize this. I felt no fear of him.

I entered his home boldly, not caring how much noise was made in the process - but I still flinched when he called me up the stairs, his voice echoing in the still of the mansion. I hurried up the stairs, puzzled and curious.

I wasn't prepared to see him at the end of a table littered with wine bottles – but I'm sure I should have expected it. His hair was still wet from his bath and his armor lay on the floor beside a bottle of polish and a rag; I held back a giggle when he shot me a lopsided smile and bid me to sit at his table.

"Last bottle of the Aggregio," he said, presenting the half-empty bottle he currently worked on. "I've been saving it for a special occasion."

I couldn't help but think of how odd it was to see him without his armor but in his jerkin; for as long as I had known him, he had done everything in full armor. When we camped on the road, he would sleep in it, full spikes and pointy bits.

I took the seat opposite of him; candles were piled onto the table sloppily in front of us, lighting our view of each other. I raised an eyebrow, staring at the bottle.

"Today is the anniversary of my escape. _Astia valla femundis._ Care to hear the story?" He hit me with another smile – I didn't think I'd ever seen him this drunk before. I couldn't help but return it with a small nod as I relieved him of his bottle to take a sip. He shifted his weight and his foot brushed his chest plate on the floor, making it clang – I flinched at the sound, his astute eyes catching the movement.

"I enjoy listening to you," I said quickly and quietly, tucking my legs beneath me and passing the bottle back. I also found myself intrigued, more than willing to learn of how he actually managed to escape.

_Where did I go wrong?_

Fenris' smile grew. "There are few pleasures greater than speaking with a beautiful woman," he said, reclining in his chair. My cheeks almost heated at the compliment before I could compose myself. "Let's see – you've heard of Seheron?"

I nodded. I was unsure if my hallucination had been accurate or not; either way, I had heard of Seheron. I wondered if Fenris – Leto – had actually been born there or if it was just a work of fiction wrought by the magic.

"The Imperium and the Qunari have been fighting over the land for centuries. I was there with Danarius during a Qunari attack and managed to get him to a ship… of course, they had no room for a slave." He glanced up at me beneath his white bangs, his mouth a thin line.

"He left you," I said as the answer dawned on me. _Was it really that easy? Just being left behind on an island?_

Fenris gave me a grim version of his earlier smile. "I barely got out of the city alive. Lucky for me, there are rebels in the Seheron jungle that call themselves "Fog Warriors". They found me, took care of me, nursed me to health – I stayed with them until Danarius came for me."

I wanted to ask why he didn't take his opportunity when he had it – why he didn't flee, run, hop on a ship and disappear…but I already knew the answer.

_Slaves – real slaves, who have never known anything but subjugation –don't realize that they can run away._ I felt a terrible pity for the Fenris of the past, trapped on an unfamiliar island with no choices before him but to wait for his master. I pushed my pity aside, lest Fenris think I pitied him and preemptively end his story out of pride.

"I'd…grown fond of the rebels," he said, not looking at me. "They bowed to no master; they fought for their freedom. It was beyond…anything I had experienced. When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me. He ordered me to kill them, so I did. I killed them all."

There was a tug on my shoulders to thank these Fog Warriors – they had done no less than I had tried to do and ended up in my exact place.

I didn't know what to say, but his extended pause made me feel like he may have expected me to speak. I couldn't force my voice into action.

_If Danarius comes for him a second time, will Fenris obey him and kill me?_ I shuddered at the thought of my nightmare becoming a reality.

I wanted to comfort Fenris, but I was unsure of how he would receive me. His finals words hung between us for a few more moments before he found his voice again.

"It felt inevitable. My master had returned and the fantasy life was over. But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies and I felt….I ran. And never looked back."

Pride seemed like an odd emotion to feel, but that's what struck me hardest as I watched him take a long drag of the wine. He offered it back to me but I declined, curling tighter to myself, imagining the confused, lost, and upset slave Fenris as he chose to run from Danarius.

"How?" I whispered. _How did Danarius let him escape so easily?_

"How did I get away?" he surmised, licking the excess juice from his lips. "Danarius was grievously injured as a result of the struggle with the Fog Warriors. His forces were damaged and he was injured; even if he wanted to, he couldn't follow me in earnest until a few weeks later…by then, I was already gone."

I still had so many questions – _where did you go? What did you do? How did you get to Kirkwall?_

I could see the folly in the plans we had had years ago – I cursed myself inwardly for thinking of the magical trip I took in those terms, but the experience felt too real to ignore. Fenris and I had planned to run, but we had no plan afterwards – once we got away, we had no way to _stay_ away; we would have had to run forever to get away from Danarius.

I looked at Fenris now and I could tell he was tired of living like he did. He hadn't experienced a full life; even now, I watched his eyes scour the darkened windows and doorways behind me, waiting for the hour his demons would chance upon him.

He was done with running. I'd never planned to stop…I had thought that perhaps, together, we would make it, running from place to place.

Our relationship would have crumbled. We would have been reduced to nothing; we would have had to stop. Danarius could have used us against each other, as he did in the past.

_It would have never worked like we wanted._ But at the time, I couldn't have helped but to dream – to try.

I felt an incredible sadness, looking at Fenris now. Thinking of what would have been, I could only imagine our lives spent running together – ridiculously in love, unwilling to give up on each other.

Homesickness never hit me so acutely.

"I've never spoken about what happened to anyone," he said, staring at his bottle, swirling the liquid around. "I've never wanted to." He slyly glanced over at me, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Is this what it's like?" Full attention turned to me.

_What is _what _like? _A blush finally crept onto my cheeks.

"To have a friend," he added on, sensing my discomfort. My blush deepened with embarrassment.

"Or too much wine," I said quietly. I jumped when he burst into sudden laughter.

"Perhaps," he said mirthfully. "A toast, then. To the fallen."

_A toast to those who died for Fenris' sake,_ I thought, taking the wine and toasting with him. I took a lengthy gulp, the heady heat of the wine flushing to my cheeks. _To the Fog Warriors...and me._

**-C-**

I left Fenris in his study; he let me clean unattested this evening – possibly a testament to his good mood.

I wore myself out quickly, as I had gone out and actually worked earlier in the day. I picked up my supplies, feeling somewhat relaxed – if not a little disquieted - as I stowed them away for the next day.

I stepped up the stairs quietly, a respect for the sound I make deeply instilled within me – a compulsion I couldn't quite shake.

_Hadriana screeched, pulling my hair by the roots. "A few of us need our sleep, you worthless slime!"_

The angry words echoed in my mind as I took care to press my feet softly into the carpet before I shifted my weight.

The mistake of sound was not one that would be made twice.

My robes fluttered around my shoulders, barely fitting any longer. I had to tie the knot around my waist doubly tight, wrapping it around twice for my finery to even stay in place.

_When did I lose so much weight?_

I hadn't had much of an appetite since I "woke up". It didn't seem troublesome, but I could feel the fabric as it rubbed against my collar bone, my skin feeling paper thin.

When I happened upon Fenris, he was asleep where I left him on the bench, his head resting against the wall and his mouth popped open. I smiled at the sight of him disheveled and defenseless.

He looked uncomfortable, neck stretched to rest his head. Meaning to readjust him or wake him up to let him know I was leaving so he could go to bed, I placed a hand on his shoulder and jumped when his hand shot up and clamped over my wrist. His markings briefly flared and died out as his eyes opened; drowsy and more than a little drunk, he didn't bother to close his mouth or lift his head as he stared up at me, his brain catching up with his actions.

"Hawke," he said, his hand on my arm unyielding. My heart bounded in my chest as I considered bolting – but I was rooted to the spot.

Speechless, I couldn't even remove my eyes from his; captured beneath some magic he must have worked over me.

In the span of a heartbeat, he leaned forward and tugged me closer by my hand – our mouths collided, the wine on his lips bitter and delicious, tempting and terrifying. Our kiss lasted only a few breathless moments before he released me.

The second his gauntleted hand released my wrist I pulled far away – but I didn't want to run. I refused to run. I closed my eyes and repeated the words _He won't hurt me _to myself, counted backwards from ten, anything - to calm myself down.

_There is no threat. Just me, just him. He isn't going to hurt me._

I didn't realize he had stood until he was within striking distance. I jumped when I opened my eyes, meeting his green orbs immediately, watching them flicker in the candle light.

"What happened to you, Hawke?" he whispered, brow furrowing.

I pressed my lips together and shook my head, closing my eyes to stop the burning.

_Nothing. _That's why it was so devastating; I knew none of it ever happened. I knew I would sound crazy if I tried to tell him.

_It's not fair._ He told me his story; I should have told him mine. But I couldn't force the words out; couldn't find any word in any corner of my mind that would make him understand.

"If you want to tell me," he said, swallowing, unsure. "I'm here to listen." I tried to take a step back, but his hand flashed out and grabbed my wrist again. "You know that, don't you?"

I nodded as the tears escaped my eyelids, blazing watery paths down my chilled cheeks.

"Would you like to stay here for the night?" he asked, his tone of voice completely open.

I paused for a moment, my mind briefly wondering if he would punish me if I said declined. Ashamed for the thought, I slowly shook my head "no", trying to battle away my fear.

_Stop. Please._

"Would you like for me to walk you home?"

My chin trembled as I nodded. He released my hand.

"Let's be off, then."

He appeared to have sobered up on the walk to my home, our bare feet walking in tandem, side by side. We didn't speak the entire journey, silently walking in the company of each other. I couldn't speak; he seemed to not have anything to say at all.

We reached my house and he turned to leave. A noise rose from the back of my throat and he halted, waiting patiently for me to voice my thought.

"Would you…like to stay?" I asked, voice barely a whisper. I stared at the white dots on his feet as I waited for an answer.

"No, thank you," he said slowly, his voice deep and rough. "However, I will be back in the morning. We are traveling back to the coast, are we not?"

I nodded, shuffling my feet. He was so near to me, so close – I wondered if he remembered the night we were once together as fondly as I did, drunken and stupid as I had been. Unbeknownst to him, there were so many other nights that I had experienced that he had no knowledge of – so many hours spent with my brown-haired Fenris, loving and being loved – it wrecked me to know that he would never know them as I did, with fondness and vestiges of lust and loss.

He stepped forward and caught my chin between his finger and thumb, pulling me closer for another kiss. My hands stayed limp at my sides as his lips captured mine, warm and malleable, for a few seconds before he was gone.

"Tomorrow, Hawke."

I couldn't manage to speak a farewell – my voice had fled once more.

**-C-**

Fenris and I didn't speak of the night before, but I couldn't get his words out of my head for the entire day we spent on the coast. Isabela and Sebastian were in tow and I regretted my party-making decision acutely as the day wore on.

"Just a tiny peek?" Isabela asked, voice full of honey.

"Nay, pirate lass," Sebastian said, with all the patience of a saint. "You cannot see my knickers."

"Aw, please?"

The back and forth continued our entire trek from place to place, and I was nearly boiling over from frustration. Isabela never knew when to quit.

I was between raging and turning around when they accosted us. Two dozen soldiers littered the path, blocking our way; I pulled my staff from my back as we approached, squinting in the sunlight. They bore Tevinter armor – once I saw the helmets, my heart began to race.

"Hunters," Fenris growled, bracing to run but holding back.

"Stop right there! You are in possession of stolen property," said a man positioned high to our left. "Back away from the slave now and you'll be spared!"

My mouth went dry. _He means Fenris?_ _He thinks…Fenris… Is mine?_

My head swirled as I darted my eyes around, looking for a familiar face – but all the men wore helmets, save a mage on the cliff. There was no Danarius; my heart fluttered for a moment before Fenris released a terrifying, furious bellow.

"_I am not a slave!"_

The fight broke out between us and the few dozen men surrounding us instantly – magic crackled through the air and I answered by sending a lightning bolt at the mage on the cliff, flinging him backwards.

Fenris dove to the front recklessly, swinging his giant sword and mowing down the slavers in front of him. Isabela snuck behind and finished off a few that stumbled away from Fenris' brutal, unforgiving swings while Sebastian took out the other archers on the cliff side.

There wasn't much I could do besides lob a fireball here and there – I froze one man before he could stab Sebastian in the back and stunned an archer before she lobbed an arrow at Fenris. The battle ended quickly – the hunters were very much unskilled, compared to our tight unit of semi-professionals.

_We certainly can fight well together,_ I thought, once again impressed by the abilities of my band of misfits.

We stood together, waiting for any other disturbance, Imperium blood pooling at our feet. Isabela began looting the bodies, happily humming a tune beneath her breath.

Fenris spotted the mage, who had tumbled from the cliff, trying to crawl away. He reacted instantly, treading quickly over to the man's side and grabbing him by the hair. I rushed over behind him and paused at his back, close to reprimanding him but finding myself unable to as he forcefully questioned the man over the location of Danarius.

And then the man spoke a name that I never expected to hear again.

"Hadriana brought us," he said fearfully, eyes wet.

My blood ran cold at the name.

_Hadriana._

"_Beg."_

"_That's a good slave."_

_"We're going to fix that mouth of yours."  
><em>  
>My vision wavered as I stared at the ground in horror, the memories, all of the past pains flashing through my mind in a flurry of agony. A hand caught my shoulder as my knees went weak, holding me up. I heard Sebastian speaking to me quietly in a soothing voice, but I couldn't understand a single word he said.<p>

All I knew was that one word: _Hadriana._

Was it a coincidence?

Had I ever heard that name before I went to the past? Had Fenris ever spoken to me of Hadriana?

I quickly picked through any conversation I could ever remember having with Fenris, every conversation he had with someone within earshot of me.

Had he _ever_ said that name to me before?

"Hadriana," he spat the name with venom.

I couldn't recall him ever saying it before. My palms began to sweat as my vision came back to me; I realized Fenris was pacing in anger and anxiety. His tigers were at his back once again.

_It can't be a coincidence. _Fenris had never told me of Hadriana – had never mentioned Danarius having an apprentice before.

It had to be the magic; the magic must have known that Danarius had an apprentice named Hadriana. But how? Could there be a spell that powerful, to work its machinations on my mind and including accurate details I couldn't have possibly known?

_It didn't happen. It wasn't real. It was all the magic – the magic's fault -_

It was getting harder and harder to believe that as Fenris continued pacing and ranting about his old master's apprentice.

"Do you know where she is?" I interrupted his fit, the intensity apparent in my voice. I caught Isabela and Sebastian trading a worried look in my peripherals.

"Yes," Fenris said shortly, face contorted with rage.

"Let's go," I said, walking out of Sebastian's grip.

I had to know. I had to see her. I needed to know more of the magic that had wreaked its force upon my life and left me stranded in my own head.

**-C-**

We ran into a few more slavers along the way, but nothing that we couldn't handle. I was distracted in our fights and Fenris fell into a blood rage against the slavers, but Isabela and Sebastian kept us alive. I had full faith in our team that we would come out on top, no matter the odds.

When I saw the cave, a new threat occurred to me: _what if Danarius is in the caves with Hadriana?_

I couldn't linger on that thought; I didn't know what I would do if it were true. _Run? Fight? Regroup and send for help?_ I looked at Fenris in concern; he faced away from me so that all I could see was his back and the angular line of his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

Once we were at the entrance, we all waited, catching our breaths. I saw Sebastian and Isabela trade another look and grew annoyed, the feeling only adding to my stress.

"Hadriana won't get away," I promised, my voice hard.

"Let's hurry, before this all goes to waste," Fenris replied, bitter. I led the way into the caves, feeling jittery and uncertain of everything except that we were going to shut this woman down.

I couldn't say that I knew anything about her – but if the magical stone had known her name, who's to say that it didn't know everything else about her? How sniveling and dark her mind was, her sadistic nature… repulsed and distracted, I let Fenris take the lead again. We entered a room that had a bloodied elf strapped to a table and covered.

Horrified, I could do nothing but stare at his lifeless eyes for a long while as Isabela stood aghast. Fenris answered her – something about the magisters and blood magic – but I couldn't focus.

All I could see on that table was Pana; strapped down, drained, used.

_My sweet girl._

I covered my mouth, rooted to my spot.

"Let us move on," Fenris urged, unaware of my personal plight.

_How would he know?_ I despaired. _Why can't someone just tell me what's real and what isn't?_

All that I knew was that my feelings were real; the rage, the pain, the suffering that I had felt was real to me. Fenris was real. His need to stop this woman was real; that was good enough for me.

We fought wave after wave of slavers and hunters until we eventually ran into a slave girl – her eyes were big and green, her hair a delicate blonde, and I wanted to die once I saw her resemblance to my Pana.

She cried for help and we rushed to stop the slavers, slaying them all fairly quickly. Fenris reached her first, huddled in the dirty corner.

"Are you all right? Did they touch you?" he asked hurriedly, a snarl on his lips at this poor girl's situation.

"They've been killing everyone! They cut Papa, bled him!" she cried, utterly distraught.

"Why?" Fenris asked, surprised. "Why would they do this?"

"This is monstrous," Isabela muttered behind me, sounding incensed.

"Aye, that it is," Sebastian replied. "So much needless death in the wake of these slavers."

"The magister," the girl explained, wide eyed with fright. "She said she needed more power, that someone was coming to kill her."

Fenris lowered his head in a guilty gesture – Sebastian said a quick prayer as we all silently understood that we were the reason these lives were taken.

"We tried to be good, we did everything we were told! She loved Papa's soup. I don't understand." Tears were in her pretty, green eyes. "The magister said she was preparing for battle; I think she's very frightened."

"She has every reason to be," Fenris spat murderously.

"Please, don't hurt her," the elf begged, tears streaming down to her chin. "She'll be so angry if you hurt her."

"No promises," Isabela said from a few feet away. "If he doesn't hurt her, _I_ will. This is disgusting."

I stepped forward, placing a hand on the girl's arm. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "This has been terrible for you."

"Everything was fine until today," she said, weeping, letting me comfort her.

"No," Fenris said tonelessly. "It wasn't. You just…didn't know any better."

I looked at him, but he was slowly walking away, his head tilted upwards. I murmured some comforting words to the girl to get her to calm down. She stepped forward, out of my hand, closer to Fenris. He turned to view her, his eyes betraying how upset he was.

"Are you my master now?" she asked, voice hopeful.

"No!" Fenris exclaimed, waving his arms in front of him. The loud, sudden jolt of his voice made both the girl and I jump.

"But – but I can cook!" she begged, walking closer to him. He took a step back. "I can clean! What else will I do?" she said hopelessly.

I felt a kinship with the girl – I couldn't sleep at night without cleaning Fenris' mansion. I couldn't sleep with the lingering fear that I wasn't pleasing a master that wasn't even there – I knew that she needed someone. I realized that not only would she need to recover from this incident and a life of slavery, but that she would need someone to look after her until she had enough knowledge and strength to branch out on her own.

The world was too tough for her to stand up to it – she would surely die if I let her leave us. I reached for her hand and pulled her attention back to me.

It helped her case that she looked so much like my Pana, as well.

"Do you know how to get to Hightown?" I asked her after she turned her round, hopeful eyes towards me.

"Y-yes," she said tentatively, a little confused.

"Go there and ask to find the Amell estate," I instructed. "You can stay with me, in my home."

"Oh – oh, Maker, thank you!" she said. "Don't worry – I'm a hard worker! You won't regret it," she said, smiling desperately. "I – I'll get right to it." She all but ran away from us and towards the exit – I worried for her safety on her trip to Kirkwall, but I couldn't think about it too closely; we still had work to do.

I turned to move and almost ran into the stoic brick wall that was a glaring Fenris.

Fear struck my heart – the cold anger in his eyes hearkening me back to a dark time.

"What?" I asked, my voice bare, a shiver cascading down my spine.

"I had no idea you were in the market for a slave." He glowered with a hatred I had never felt directed at me before.

"I gave her a job, Fenris," I said, abhorred that he would even entertain the thought that I would want a slave. "I'm going to pay her."

I wanted to slap him for even insinuating that I was going to keep a slave – the violent urge startled me.

He looked properly abashed, his ears drooping and his expression turning apologetic. "My apologies, I thought – I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"It's fine," I said, relaxing from my momentary animosity. "I understand."

Fenris looked frustrated. I felt stressed; I could only imagine what he was going through, what he was thinking. "Let's find Hadriana and be done with this place." He sounded so weary; I watched his shoulders droop as he lowered his head to continue on.

**-C-**

We were covered in blood, but our pockets were full of loot. Killing slavers tended to be quite a lucrative business, as it were. We all suffered a few minor injuries that were best solved with a potion until we could return to Anders; we pressured on, not letting up until we had finally reached Hadriana.

She was ready for us; high off of the blood of her slaves, she conjured wave after wave of demon and husk to fight us. They were hardly a match for our wills; we destroyed them easily.

Hadriana, however, was tough. She expertly slung her spells at us, weakening us and preventing a direct attack. She froze Sebastian's leg to the floor, leaving him to chop at the ice while I covered his back; she hit Fenris with a lightning bolt, but the runes in his armor protected him from most of the burns. In the end, Isabela threw a grenade at her, shutting her down and causing her to collapse.

The demons disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief a second before I saw Fenris marching to her, death in his gaze.

She certainly looked like Hadriana – her eyes were the same piercing shade, her skin the same color – even her spells were reminiscent of the Hadriana of (my dream? My hallucination?) the past. It was eerie, seeing her there, knowing what I knew and simultaneously being completely lost because I _didn't_ know anything real at all.

Fenris kicked away her staff and lifted his sword to strike her down.

"Stop! You don't want me dead," Hadriana shouted, covering her face. My eyes widened.

_This can't be._ Her voice was even the same. Maker's breath – I stood, frozen, unprepared for the onslaught of unanswered questions.

"I can only think of one person I want dead more," Fenris replied, sneering down at her.

"I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life."

Fenris scoffed. "The location of Danarius? I'd rather he lose his pet pupil."

"You have a sister. She is alive!"

My mind went blank.

_Why?_

_Why does it all have to tangle together?_

I didn't know what was real anymore – the past that I had experienced _couldn't_ be real.

But it really, _really_ looked like it was. My only saving grace was that Hadriana hadn't acknowledged me – but I doubt she could spare any concentration outside of Fenris and trying to keep herself alive.

_Would she even remember me if it were all real?_

"You wish to reclaim your life?" she asked, the words snaking out of her mouth as she tried to talk Fenris out of killing her. "Let me go, and I will tell you what I know."

"Fenris…" I said, trepidation in my voice. _This woman…if she is anything like I know, she's not to be trusted. _We couldn't afford to let her get away_._

Fenris walked forward slowly, leaning in close to Hadriana. Their conversation was hushed, but I distinctly heard Fenris tell her that she had his word. I closed my eyes, pained at the thought of letting this woman get away but trusting Fenris.

I stood with Isabela on the subject; if he didn't kill her, _I _certainly would. _She doesn't have _my _word._

Fenris began to glow – in a short instant, his fist had gone through her chest. A sharp _crack_ sounded and she collapsed over. Fenris stood and walked by me, ignoring all of us.

"We're done here."

I stopped him before he could walk out the door. "Do you… want to talk about it?" I asked cautiously.

"_No,_" he said viciously, turning to snarl. "I don't want to talk about it!" He was dangerously close to me – I leaned backward involuntarily, shielding myself from his rage. "It could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me of this "_sister_"."

He shook his head, enraged and confused; I saw no relief in his eyes at killing Hadriana. His tone put me on edge; the small happiness that I had gotten from seeing Hadriana keel over was soon stripped away by Fenris' ferocity. "Even if he didn't, trying to find her would be suicide. Danarius has to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows." He sounded defeated – I wanted to comfort him, but I didn't think he would receive my pity well. He clenched his fists, glaring at Hadriana's corpse – her blood dripped from his right gauntlet. "But all that matters is that I finally got to crush this bitch's heart." He exhaled heavily, turning away from me again. "May she rot," he said, spitting onto the floor. "And all the other mages with her."

"_Fenris,_" Isabela hissed. I brushed off his comment – I was intensely familiar with Fenris' hatred of mages. His comments hardly bothered me; I knew how he felt, even if his hatred was sometimes misplaced.

"Perhaps we should go," I said softly, raising a hand to put on his shoulder. He shook me off.

"Don't comfort me," he growled, his heated glare piercing my heart. I stepped back, another flash of fear taking me.

_Keep it under control,_ I reminded myself. _This is still Fenris. He won't hurt me – he's just angry._

"There's always going to be some reason, some excuse for why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the mages have done to her?" I closed my eyes, quietly pained with my burden of knowledge – because if my experience had been accurate up until this point, who was there to say that all if it wasn't as accurate as it could be? I wanted to tell him, to shout _your sister is a mage_, but I couldn't do it. I would get a hand through my heart; I would look insane, or worse – I would look like I was in league with Danarius. "What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?" Fenris said, turning back to me, the acidic words rolling of his tongue.

I just stared at him, feeling harrowed and tired – knowing that even if I found the words, I would be unable to tell him of my merry jaunt in the past.

_He wouldn't believe me; he wouldn't trust me._ The Fenris of the past hadn't believed me, either – but at least he had loved me enough to get past my deceits.

Fenris saw my expression and sighed, his head drooping as he realized what he just said to me - a mage.

Conflicted, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I…need to go."

He left us in favor of the door. I let him walk out without a fight – we were both too exhausted for another altercation.

I wanted another good look at Hadriana – I needed to know she was dead. When the door to the outside slammed shut, I took a deep breath and walked to where her body lay.

"For what it's worth, Hawke, I'm certain his words were only spoken out of anger," Sebastian said sagely. I nodded. I knew. I understood. How could I not? "Fenris admires you and your talents. He means not what he says."

Intellectually, I knew that – I knew that when he said "mages", he truly meant the abusers of magic – those like Danarius who sought only more power. I found it harder to answer his question than to understand him.

_What isn't spoiled by magic?_ I thought, confused. Magic had ruined me; magic had ruined Fenris.

_Why would the Maker do this to his children?_ Magic seemed less and less like a blessing and more like a curse – something I had mixed feelings about.

I pushed Hadriana's body over with my foot and stared into her lifeless eyes for some time. I could sense the unease among my remaining party as I gazed down at the deceased woman, puzzling at my life.

I stood still for several minutes while Hadriana's blood stopped pooling and stagnated.

"Have you ever been so sure of something, only to find out that everything you were once sure of is a falsehood?"

"What was that?" Sebastian asked politely. I shook my head and turned to leave, following Fenris' path out the door.

"It's unimportant," I said, the lie tasting foul in my mouth. "Let's go home."

"Thank the Maker," Isabela groaned. "I'm so sick of this place." She patted my shoulder as I walked by her.

I opened the door and started when I didn't see Fenris. I casted my eyes all around – I had imagined he would wait for us, at least.

But no – he had already left, departed and set off to Kirkwall – I assumed.

As we walked, my assumptions turned to fear.

_What if Danarius was waiting for him outside? What if other hunters took him?_

What if he left Kirkwall altogether and went somewhere else?

I didn't know how I would fare without him. I needed him in my life – to cope and move onward.

_I need to know if it's real._ But he couldn't possibly tell me if it was – even if everything I experienced had actually happened, Fenris wouldn't remember it.

_I need to be there for him._ I knew that Fenris needed me – needed all of us – to face Danarius. He would be unable to do it on his own. It would be like being caught with the Fog Warriors all over again – Fenris would have no choice but to obey.

_He can't have left._ I worried the entire walk back to Hightown and continued to worry long after Sebastian and Isabela had said their goodbyes.

I was surprised when I reached my home and found Bodahn shifting around nervously in my foyer, waiting for me to return.

"Ahm, messere," he said, "a strange elf showed up a short while ago and said that you told her she could live here."

"Yes," I said, remembering the girl. "That's right."

"Oh! Good, because I showed her to her room already. She's waiting for you in the living room."

I entered my home completely and walked straight into my living room – I motioned for the girl to follow me up the stairs and she was right on my heels in an instant, eager.

"I'm ready to serve you, Mistress," she said.

I halted mid-step, nearly having a heart attack. "No," I said immediately. "Don't call me that. Please."

"Oh…" she said, confused. "What do you wish for me to call you?"

I continued up the stairs, my bones creaking with every step. "My name. I'm Marian Hawke. What's your name?"

"Orana," she replied instantly, looking uncomfortable. I entered my room and she followed, shutting the door. I began loosening and removing my robes and armor, relieving my pockets of weapons. "If you don't mind, may I call you something else?" she asked tentatively. "Your name is just so…informal…almost as if…"

_You weren't my slave?_ I supplied, stripping myself.

I smiled tiredly. "I'll be paying you for your services, Orana. Is that okay?"

"Oh," she said, eyes widening. "You mean… real money?"

I nodded. "I'm going to take a bath; feel free to go rest. Do you like your room?"

"Yes, and it's marvelous," she gushed, grinning at me. "I've never had my own room! Or – or money of my own."

"Go enjoy it," I said peeling off my sticky breast band and entering the bath. I heated the water with magic and tested it with a finger. "I'm going to take a bath," I announced, severely needing one.

"Very well, Mistre- messere. Please, call me if you need my services."

She left, shutting the door behind her. I sighed as I sank into the hot water, feeling more at peace than I had for the entire day.

I couldn't quell the raging in my mind even as I tried to get my tensed body to relax and succumb to the water. I sighed and began to scrub the blood from beneath my nails.

_It was only a matter of time before he left,_ I thought, feeling numb. _I've always been more trouble than I'm worth._ I'd hoped I hadn't let anything slip; but I doubted Fenris would have noticed, even if I had. He had been so intent upon finding Hadriana and killing her that little could have distracted him from his goal.

When I exited the bath and donned my house robe, night had fallen and everyone was asleep. Muffin dozed at the foot of my bed, but my stomach growled – I hadn't eaten since breakfast.

It all felt too real as I walked around my estate in nothing but my robe – the chilly air hit my thighs, as it used to when I was a slave – when I _hallucinated_ that I was a slave.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. Everything was too much for me to handle. I wanted to teleport back to a simpler time when Fenris loved me and we had ran away together; I wanted everything to make sense.

I wanted the only things that mattered in my life to be Fenris and our freedom.

Eating a few of the leftovers, I tried not to think. Forcing my mind into blankness was the easier solution to all of my problems – forgetting everything and focusing on nothing eased some of my mental anguish for the time being.

That is, until I heard the knock on my door. I jumped, puzzling at the appearance of a guest at such a late hour – I lit a candelabra and carried it to the foyer, setting it down on an end table before I approached the door.

The door opened before I could get there and Fenris entered my home, his head bowed, his face almost repentant.

* * *

><p><strong>I HAVE NO SHAME FOR ENDING IT THERE SO DON'T EVEN TRY TO GUILT ME mwahahahaha<strong>

**I seriously couldn't remember if I had mentioned the Fog Warrior conversation previously or not, but I really wanted to do it. If anyone knows if I have, can you please tell me the chapter number so I can run back and do some edits? –shifty eyes- C: Thank you! I DON'T REMEMBER AT ALL PLEASE HELP. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, and it may not be that important…but I know at least one of you is a stickler and is willing to yank my tail on this one.**

**I'm so tired all the time, but I'm making an effort to keep writing this! So if some things don't sound right or if it's not flowing right anymore, please tell me because it's just me getting sloppy. I don't get a lot of sleep this time of year because of classes and promises to friends to do (insert activities here) so I feel like I'm pulled all over the place frequently but this story is still important to me so I'm going to keep writing until my fingers fall off!  
><strong>


	41. 36 Cage

**So, I played Inquisition and beat it in about four days of serious grinding (if it weren't for tumblr reminding me, I probably would have forgotten to eat) and class skipping. If anyone is curious, I romanced Solas (HIGHLY RECOMMEND 10/10 ROMANCE) and if you're _wondering_…yes. Yes, I probably _will_ write a fanfiction about the nerdy pinball head and my Inquisitor _I love them so much_**

**But of course, I can't possibly expect to start writing another fanfiction when I haven't finished this baby of mine! We're definitely on the home stretch here, so there's no rush to start another one just yet and I would hate to disappoint anyone by dropping Anach (which I would never dream of doing). So, just to be clear: There's another fanfic on the horizon for me – Femquisitor/Solas – and possibly a one shot of this Hawke and Fenris in Inquisition? Hmm. Certainly something to think about, considering I'm coming up on a big break soon and I was really looking forward to seeing a Hawke/Fenris reunion.**

**WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!**

**NSFW things therein! This is your only warning! There IS a sexual scene in this chapter.**

**WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!**

* * *

><p><em>"The person that you were has died<br>you've lost the sparkle in your eyes  
>You fell for life into its traps<br>Now you wanna bridge the gaps  
>Now you wanna bridge the gaps<br>Now you want that person back_

_You don't know what you wanna do_  
><em>You've got no pull to pull you through"<em>

Wonderful, Gary Go

* * *

><p><strong>36. Cage<strong>

"I've been…thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he began, not looking at me. I only felt relief to see him, standing there, whole and uninjured. I had been so concerned that he had been attacked or had ran away that I didn't even know that I had been worrying so much until the relief nearly bowled me over. "I… took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so. I was not myself; I'm sorry." He still cast his eyes to the side; I wondered if he was embarrassed or if it was the post-freedom reaction of a slave.

I had issues with making eye contact, as well.

I couldn't respond with words – I only wanted to give him a hug, but I couldn't do that, either. I was irrationally afraid that he was going to hurt me – that he viewed me as a threat.

I was _just another mage_, after all. Just another Hadriana, another Danarius. How close had I come to becoming Hadriana?

_Too close._

"Are you not talking to me, again?" he said through a sigh, pinching his eyes shut after a long period of silence from me. "I understand."

_No. You don't._ _It isn't because of what you said._

"I needed to be alone," he said, looking aside, beyond my head. "When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep –"

My heart quaked at the familiarity – I could remember the starvation, the torture, the harsh words she lobbed at me like it were yesterday.

_The stings of metal needles beneath my fingernails and in my spine, the shocks of magic hitting the conductors, the needle piercing my lips -_

I reflexively lifted my hand to touch my mouth to feel for stitches and, of course, found none. I inhaled shakily.

_Stop talking._

"Because of her status, I was powerless to respond, and she knew it," he said, the heat from earlier reentering his voice. "The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now… I couldn't let her go. I wanted to – but I couldn't."

_Please, stop talking about Hadriana._ I felt so close to a breaking point – after all the stress of the day…no, the past few weeks – I couldn't handle his anger on top of that. I couldn't handle the reality that the magical stone that I had spoken to had been so eerily accurate – I couldn't handle that what I had experienced _wasn't real_ but still felt like it _was._

"This…_hate_," Fenris said, "I thought I had gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know that they were the ones who planted it inside me… it was too much to bear."

_The hate. The fear. The pain. At least _his _is justifiably real._

"Bah," he said, turning away with a drooped head. "I didn't come here to burden you further. I should go." His back turned to me and I panicked.

_Wait._

I couldn't let him walk out – I couldn't let him forget me again -

"Don't go." I placed my hand on his shoulder. His hackles rose at the sudden, unexpected contact and his markings glowed – in a short moment, he had forcefully shoved me against the wall, his face livid - and I shut down.

The menacing glow of the markings set me off – I was suddenly back in Tevinter, at the mercy of Fenris and his Master, feeling his kicks in my ribs and his crushing force on my broken bones. My mouth was sewn shut and my hands were pained from infection – I was a slave, and I could do nothing to protect myself.

I shut my eyes and waited, assuring myself that it would all be over soon – Danarius would get his fill and move on. I could not halt Fenris' attack, even if I truly wanted to face the repercussions of such an action.

Metal scraped against metal and I violently shook at the sound.

_Just get it over with,_ I begged silently.

"I – I'm sorry," he gasped, taking a step back. My vision blackened and dulled, narrowed until only a thin pinprick of light was visible – the glint of steel, the smell of leather and musk – I winced, my back scraping against the wall as I slid to the floor, my head falling between my knees with my hands protecting my cranium.

_Please don't hurt me._

My back still stung from the pain of the lashes; my head swam from the lack of food and restful sleep. I waited for the next blow – my head? My back? My hand? My shoulders hit the floor as I curled in on myself, protecting my soft parts from hard feet.

_Please, please don't hurt me._

"Hawke!"

_Please, please, don't-_

"Hawke," a deep, rumbling voice growled; my shoulders were seized and I cried out in terror. "Open your eyes."

I couldn't get enough air – my lungs were screaming for it, my chest heaved but no relief came.

_I've learned my lesson._

I'll be good.

I lost.

"_Breathe_, Hawke." The hands on my shoulders lifted me, pulling me from the ground – I cried out again, feeling exposed; my hands covered my face, protecting it from harm. Sharp metal poked me in the shoulder. "Breathe."

My lungs were on fire – I gasped in a breath and held it for a moment before releasing it, making an effort to slow down my panting. It seemed to work, for a time.

_Master, please._

Shuddering, I futilely tried to cover every inch of my body unshielded, my shoulders concave. The arms holding me upright released me; I rolled against the wall, tucking my knees into my chest, ducking my head under my arms.

"_Venhedis."_

My vision slowly came back to me, spotted black from lack of oxygen.

"_Hawke,_" Fenris whispered, sounding lost. "Stop."

I was so confused – was I not pleasing? Should I obey him and stop? Was that an order? Could I take orders from Fenris?

_Everyone is above me. Everyone is master. _Everyone was a threat to my happiness – because I would always be a slave.

A crack sounded as something struck a wall – I flinched and cried out, shaking.

_Stop,_ he had ordered – but I didn't know how. I tried to focus on the present – I was no longer under the thumb of Danarius but _Maker_ was it so hard to forget. It was so easy to revert to a slave's disposition – to try and please everyone, because everyone was above me and could hurt me.

_Does Fenris always feel like this? Like all mages are masters that he has to struggle against?_

The thought came from nowhere, entering my head like a rogue wayfarer – yet it crushed me to realize that _yes_, he had been dealing with these feelings for much longer than I had.

_Is that why he's so ashamed that we had sex? Because he felt like he was ordered to please me?_

The thought made me sick – I retched onto the floor, expelling the dinner I had just consumed.

I cried – I cried for what I had experienced, for what I was going through, and for the trauma that had just occurred; but mostly, I cried for Fenris - because he wouldn't cry for himself. I cried for what he had gone through, how he had struggled and came out stronger than ever before and how I had tried to change that and mold him into something different than what he was.

_How am I any better than the magisters?_

I heard a few loud thuds as objects hit the floor – I jumped at every collision, crying harder, hiccupping, unable to control myself.

_Once you're a slave, you're always a slave._

_Fenris must have felt like this for as long as he can remember,_ I thought. _He can't remember a time of feeling uninterrupted joy, or shared love, or past freedom._ I wanted to touch him and hold him but the fear kept me still – fear of being owned, of being possessed and used and thrown away at a whim.

I understood why Fenris never stayed, never got too close, always shrugged me off – he was afraid of giving himself to another mage.

_He doesn't want to give his heart to me – doesn't want another mage to own another piece of him._

I could hear the rush of my blood in my ears in the silence of the room; some sound rang in my ear, dull yet shrill, shattering my concentration.

Footsteps sounded, falling away from me. There was a pause in his stride a few moments before the door to my house shut.

_He left._

Hours later, my breathing finally slowed and evened. I lifted my head; my shoulders were stiff from hunching over, my temples felt full and my eyes were puffy. I felt shaken to the core – the attack had been so strong, so real –

I fell gracelessly back to the floor, weak. The stone chilled my skin, making me feel hollow and without warmth. I shivered, wanting to let myself slide under my bed, needing the protection, the reassurance of a bulk on top of me that would prevent anyone from seeing my huddled form.

_Sorry,_ I wanted to say again, to call him back so I could explain myself – but, once again, my mouth couldn't open.

**-C-**

I awoke groggy and immensely uncomfortable the next morning, lying on the floor of my foyer.

Everything came to me in a rush and I sat up quickly, momentarily dazed before I rushed headlong into a panic.

_What did I _do? I could only imagine what Fenris thought of my little meltdown – a thing that hadn't happened for quite some time and _never_ that drastically.

I wrung my hands – I needed to see him. I looked out of my window, seeing the sun rising in the sky – we hadn't planned to do anything today, we didn't have the chance. I wondered if he would be working for someone else.

Feeling like rubbish, I couldn't bear the embarrassment of how I had reacted to Fenris backing me into a corner – or, rather, against a wall.

I wished someone were around to tell me what to do, how to act and react – but I knew it was foolish to desire such a thing.

"I am my own person," I said aloud, my voice scratchy. My breath caught in my throat a little when my lips parted without resistance. Inhaling through my nose and trying not to collapse back down to the floor, I stood and climbed up the stairs so I could undergo my morning routine of washing my face and dressing, my neck aching from the hunched position I had held the entire night.

I figured he would be gone – it was nearly noon by the time I reached his not-so-abandoned mansion, feeling humiliated and hoping he wouldn't force me to tell him what exactly happened. I knew that I couldn't answer him – that I hadn't the words for my experience.

The morning was chilly, though the sun shone bright; the wind blew through the streets, hushing the murmur of the crowd around me. A few nobles and tradesmen nodded their heads at me, but I didn't acknowledge them as I made my familiar way through the stone streets.

I didn't know what I had expected when I reached Fenris' mansion, but it wasn't what I found – the front door hung wide open, jerking slightly with the wind.

Fear lanced me. "F…Fenris?" I called, my voice swallowed by the halls of the mansion. I quickly entered and shut the door securely behind me, my mind flying over a hundred terrifying scenarios that would explain why his door was left open.

_He isn't this sloppy._ Fenris was a hunted man who briefly checked every window and door periodically for intruders; he wouldn't be one to just leave his_ front door _wide open_._

I took a deep breath and wandered farther inside, looking all around me, waiting for something – anything – to happen. I prepared myself to turn in run or to leap into battle at any moment.

When after several minutes I found no attackers, I calmed a little, making an effort to breathe evenly.

_An accident,_ I told myself, climbing the stairs. I didn't expect to find him in the mansion; he clearly wasn't there.

Yet, I was surprised again when I entered his bedchambers and found him out cold, face planted firmly on his table, two empty bottles of wine near his head.

I sighed. _Fenris._

I didn't know how he'd managed to get this drunk so quickly – it was so sloppy of him.

_He must have been really distressed_, I thought, apprehensive. _What exactly happened?_

I couldn't remember much more than the fact that I had experienced a panic attack – I had sensory befuddlement during the entire ordeal. Maker only knew what Fenris thought of it all – or what he witnessed.

Rather than wake him up or set myself to cleaning, I decided to leave for home – but not without stoking the fire and locking his front door, first.

Returning to the estate, I was confronted with Bodahn at the door, who informed me that Orana had offered to make lunch and that I had more mail.

I glanced at my workbench, seeing a few odd letters – I answered one or two, scribbled a note to remind myself to write to Carver and then headed to the kitchen, startling the elf therein.

"Mercy, messere," she said, pressing a hand over her heart. "Forgive me, you gave me a fright."

"I'm sorry, Orana," I said, striding forward to see what she was making. "Do you need any assistance?" I asked, peering over her bony shoulder.

"Oh, thank you, messere, but I can manage this soup just as well on my own," she said, looking to the floor and smiling.

"Very well." I pattered around the kitchen for a while, taking a quick stock of the things we needed – I reminded Orana that she was free to go spend my money at the market for any food related items we needed.

I piddled away an hour or two scrubbing dishes and poking around the kitchen, possibly annoying Orana – though she never said so.

"Hawke? You here?" said a voice initiating from the great room.

I smiled at Orana, leaving her and her soup in favor of Varric's call.

"Hey Varric," I said jovially as I entered the room – pausing when I noticed the party waiting to receive me. I looked to Varric.

He put his hands up defensively. "It was just me and Blondie, I swear. But then we met Isabela, and then…Well, everyone else just wanted to tag along."

I had a sinking feeling that I knew what this impromptu meeting was concerning as I looked at each of my silent companions in turn – Varric, Aveline, Anders, Isabela – I couldn't quite make eye contact with Fenris, who stared into me from behind the rest. I sighed, wondering when and how he pulled himself out of his drunken stupor.

"Come on, then," I said, resigned. "Let's go to the study."

When we entered the room, Varric took the leather seat, leaving Anders and Fenris to stand while Aveline and Isabela took the other two chairs – Isabela's being behind my desk. I sighed and leaned against the hard wood of the corner.

"We, ah," Varric began, realizing that I wasn't getting any closer to speaking. "Went to the Emporium today, Blondie and I."

"Spent a decent amount of coin, too," Anders commented.

I stayed quiet, watching the group, consistently trying not to make eye contact with Fenris.

"Well, we bought a rock," Varric hedged, watching my face carefully. "And I suspect it means something to you. We were hoping you could tell us how to use it. The Antiquarian was less than forthcoming." Varric prized the glittering, familiar emerald stone from his pocket and offered it to me.

I held very still, not daring to touch the rock.

"Is this what you picked up that day, Hawke?" Varric asked, calculatingly quiet.

I nodded, looking back at him evenly.

"This little blue rock?" he asked, pushing it over in his palm.

"Are you blind?" Anders snarked. "It's clearly gray."

"What? No, Blondie, I have it right here in my hand. It's light blue, like the sky on a clear day."

"That's romantic and all," said Isabela, peeking around my shoulder, "but it looks _blue_ blue to me. Dark and black, like the sea on a calm night."

"I think you mean brown," said Aveline, peering at Varric hands.

"Clearly, there is some kind of magic on it that affects the color," said Anders impatiently. "It makes the stone appear different to whoever sees it."

"Hawke?" Varric addressed. When I remained quiet, Varric spoke again. "We just want to figure out what happened. You aren't telling us, so we assumed that you can't…"

"Have any of you thought that perhaps she doesn't want us to know?" spoke Fenris. I made the mistake of looking over at him and his gaze once again captured me, holding me still as the room quieted in the wake of his words.

"It's green for me," I said finally, not looking away from Fenris.

Varric made eye contact with Isabela behind me and then he turned to look at Fenris, his eyebrows arched.

"So…" he said, turning his full attention back to me, "how do you use it?"

He pushed his hand closer to me as if intending for me to relieve him of it, but I vehemently refused, furiously shaking my head. _Not again._

"Hawke?" Anders asked, stepping closer. "Are you feeling well?"

Varric didn't rescind the offered jewel. I swallowed, not taking my eyes from it as if it were a snake - I wouldn't allow it to bite me twice.

"I'm fine," I said, thin-lipped.

The room remained patient with me through my struggle – even Isabela, who had propped her feet atop my desk and made herself comfortable.

"You ask it a question," I said, regretting my words before they left my mouth. _What if one of them tries? What if Fenris tries it?_ "No – you tell it why you're upset or confused."

I felt silly for thinking Fenris might have used the stone – _he despises magic._ He wouldn't subject himself to magic he knew to be volatile.

"And it gives you an answer?" Anders assumed. "Interesting. But also odd, considering…"

"I thought it would be more than that," Aveline surmised. "This dumb rock knocked Hawke out for days and kept her off her feet for weeks. It's a lot more complicated than "the rock answers a question"."

"Are you suggesting that Hawke is lying?" Fenris sneered.

"Not at all, Broody," assured Varric, maintaining the thin veil of peace. "We just think that there is more to this magic; I don't want it to come around and bite us in the ass later. We would rather solve the issue as it is _now. _I would never call Hawke a liar."

"But you would, apparently, discuss her as if she isn't sitting right here," pointed out Isabela. I shot her a grateful glance over my shoulder and she winked.

Fenris and Varric looked ashamed.

"I'll not have it." Aveline stood. "Hawke, if you're keeping something from us that we need to know, then I expect you to say something."

I made contact with the guard captain's intimidating stare.

"Nothing important," I said, dropping my gaze to my hands.

"Don't bully her," Fenris warned, adopting an aggressive stance. "She doesn't need it."

Aveline raised a hand and shook her head. "Don't, Fenris. Just don't. If we need to know, then we need to know."

"What Aveline means is that we're just trying to help you," Anders addressed to me.

My hands grasped one another so fiercely that the tips of my fingers were turning blue, but I couldn't relax – only continued staring down at my knuckles.

"I think…" Isabela said slowly, "I agree with Fenris. You three sort of look like a new, pathetic gang of bullies."

Anders sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We're pressuring her, aren't we? Maker's breath, let's just go."

"Hold on," Aveline said, voice hard as she held up a strong palm to prevent Anders from leaving. She walked around Varric to face me, dipping her head to my level, metal armor clanking. Her eyes softened. "You're my friend, Hawke. I take care of my friends."

"Thank you, Aveline," I whispered. "But I can't."

Aveline sighed. "Very well, Hawke." She stood and turned around. "Off with you lot. We're done here."

"Wait a minute," Varric said, standing. "We're trying to help."

"You're not," Aveline said shortly. "This isn't happening – not today, not while I'm here. There is no danger; just Hawke, and Hawke doesn't want to go through with this right now."

"Shoo," added Isabela. "Lady Man-hands has spoken."

Aveline glared at Isabela, who smiled in return.

Anders walked out. I jumped when the door swung shut at his heels.

Varric sighed. "Come on, Broody. Aveline is scaring us out."

"That isn't it." Aveline crossed her arms. "My concern is for her well being; if she says she's done, she's done. That's that."

"Yes." Isabela dragged her legs from my desk. "You boys should be ashamed."

Varric gave Isabela and incredulous look. He shook his head and turned for the door. "Women," he muttered, smiling a bit.

After he left, Fenris waited.

He had no need of capturing my attention; he knew he already had it. His eyes were ringed black with sleeplessness or dehydration; he made no quick movements. His mouth opened – but his eyes flickered to the guard captain and the dualist, self-consciously aware of the fact we weren't alone. His face held a question, a promise.

My eyes fell as my face heated. I knew I would be hearing from him again.

His speckled feet walked out of my vision; the door opened and shut. I took a deep breath.

"Good," Isabela purred. "Girl time. Lovely, lovely girl time."

Aveline relaxed. "Whore."

Isabela sat on my desk beside me, knocking aside books and papers. "I was being serious! Everyone needs girl time, don't they? We could go hat shopping. What say you, Hawke?"

"We should tell Merrill," I said in a low voice, not particularly wanting to be caught alone at home by any lyrium-embossed elves.

Isabela clapped. "Yes! I'll go get her. Meet me in the markets in an hour."

She didn't give either of us time to respond – she hopped down and sauntered out of the room, ignoring Aveline's groan.

"Really, Hawke? You're going to make me do this?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, Aveline. I think I could use the opportunity to de-stress. It might be good for us – good for the team."

"You're killing me," Aveline said through a reluctant smile. "'Good for the team.' I suppose you can just throw around declarations like that and I'm obliged to listen because it's apparently '_good for the team'._"

I smiled and walked to the door. "I'm sure Donnic wouldn't dispute you buying a dress or two.."

Aveline groaned again as the door shut.

I grinned, walking to the kitchen, trying to ignore the nagging fear of the unknown.

I filled two bowls with the completed soup that Orana had made and entered the dining room, startling her as she ate in silence on the opposite side of the table.

"Hey," I said, shutting the door behind me. "Do you want to go shopping with us today?"

"Shopping?" Orana sat back in her chair, looking at me confusedly.

"Have you ever been?" I wanted to secure her invitation before the intimidating Aveline could pop in and scare the former-slave away.

"I've been…for food and such." Orana recovered, sipping from her spoon. I pushed my second bowl to the spot adjacent to mine.

"Anything you buy today is my treat – a gift for agreeing to work here." I poured myself a glass of water, feeling as if I were drowning in luxury – no vinegar in my pure, sweet drinking water. "Perhaps you could get a new dress?"

Orana stared into her bowl, her cheeks pink. "I don't know, Messere…this dress suits me fine and I don't wish to trouble you."

I leaned forward. "I'm inviting you. This isn't a cruel trick, Orana. I want to buy you something nice as thanks for joining me in my home."

She looked at me weakly for a moment, then straightened herself. "Yes, Messere Hawke. I think…I believe I'll join you."

The door opened and Aveline entered.

"I see you didn't hesitate to tell me about lunch."

"Orana has just agreed to accompany us," I said cheerfully. The elf in question's head dropped.

"Marvelous," Aveline said dryly, apprehending her bowl of soup. "You let mine get cold."

I poked the bowl and heated it instantly – Aveline yelped and pulled her hand from it, rubbing her burned fingers. The liquid in the bowl steamed.

Aveline sighed and took her seat beside me.

"It's only the host's job to make sure their guest is satisfied," I pointed out, riding higher than I had in weeks. I tried to ignore the nagging pangs that came with thinking of Fenris – of what he would say to me about last night – what _I_ would come up with to say in return -

"Right."

Orana giggled, covering her mouth. Aveline's mouth quirked on one side, not minding me picking on her.

I ate my soup in peace.

**-C-**

The market place was busy and bustling; I shrunk away from the crowd as Aveline searched for the other half of our party.

Someone poked me in the ribs and I swerved around to see Isabela – she pointed at Merrill, who cheerfully searched a jewelry station for enchanted rings, inquiring about the magical properties in each.

"So we both brought an elf," Isabela remarked, casting her gaze on an uncomfortable but smiling Orana.

"What's the plan?" Aveline asked, rejoining us.

I shrugged. I had no idea.

"We hit up these kiosks," supplied Isabela, "we round over to that hat shop-" she pointed – "and we end at the tailor."

"Good plan." I nodded before leaving them to approach Merrill.

I loaded up on new enchanted jewelry for my friends and bought Orana a few ribbons for her hair – Isabela tried all afternoon to convince Merrill to buy a huge gold piece for her neck, but Merrill continually argued the impracticality of such a clunky purchase – even if, perhaps, it _was_ pretty and shiny.

I bought myself a new rucksack and paid for a tailored dress or two for Orana as everyone else tried on a ridiculous amount of hats – I caught Aveline laughing when Isabela tried on a giant purple affair with a ton of pheasant feathers, looking utterly ridiculous.

We bought expensive street food and filled ourselves before trekking back to our respective homes – we parted with Isabela and Merrill first, and Aveline left Orana and I once we reached Hightown; she blushed when I mentioned the pleasant green dress she had purchased and, flustered, bid Orana and I a good night.

Orana wasted no time in relieving herself to her room, her arms laden with her new skirts. I shut the door behind me as the sky rambled; Orana quickly reached beyond my line of sight.

I sighed, hearing laughing and barking from somewhere within my estate.

My family's home felt familiar and safe once again; I no longer feared the dark corners within its halls – I didn't fear Danarius because I knew he wouldn't come for me.

_Why would he?_ I would be no one to him. If anything, I thought that _he_ should avoid _me_.

I would never let him have Fenris again – and I would never forget the suffering he had caused me, even if it were fictitious.

It was real to _me_.

Retiring to my study, I resigned myself to answering neglected letters for the rest of the evening. My purchases were abandoned to the floor; I couldn't wipe the smile off my face when I thought of Aveline, Merrill, Isabela, Orana – my _girls_, there for me when I needed them.

Hours later, wrist-deep in ink and carrying heavy bags beneath my eyes, I pulled back from my desk. A chill raced down my spine and I rubbed my arms, disgruntled with my lack of planning and the dead fire.

I had returned to my penning when a knock hit my door.

"Messere," said Bodahn, wavering in the door frame. "Sorry to intrude, but you have a visitor. His in the sitting room. Shall I send him up? My, but it is chilly in here."

"No, you're right." I packed up my ink and adjusted my robe. "It's too cold in here. I'll be joining him down stairs."

Bodahn walked with me to the stairs when I asked him to give me privacy with my guest; Bodahn departed graciously with a promise to restrict Sandal and Muffin from my affairs.

Fenris stared into the fire, his hair dripping with rainwater. His sword balanced against the wall and I wondered if he planned to be in my home for some time. My eyebrow raised.

"I must confess, Hawke," Fenris began, his head lowered. He didn't turn. "I am completely out of my depth."

"I'm sorry," I interjected hastily, looking at the floor.

"When I think I've finally gotten a grasp on you, you slide out of my hands." He turned his head to me, his eyes tracing the floor as he turned around. "My instincts dictate me more often than I would care to admit – I don't have much else in the way of experience to fall back on… and I have no experience at all with dealing with this.

"I don't know why you're avoiding me." He stepped forward and my knees lost a little constitution. "You dance around us, keeping secrets and being difficult and I want to know _why_. Why have you changed?"

I backed up and he mirrored my slow steps until I was, once again, against a wall – the light from the fire cast Fenris in shadow as he kept a respectful amount of distance between us so as to not incite panic in me again.

I witnessed the dull anger glinting in his eyes and trembled.

His eyes softened. "What have you been keeping from us, Hawke? What happened?"

My eyes closed and I tried to keep myself from shutting down as he took another step closer.

"Last night." He waited for my eyes to open again. "You said _Domine._ You – _called me_ – _Domine._"

The word sounded strange in my head, not belonging in my vocabulary. "What?"

"_Master_." The title, spat like acid from his lips, made me flinch. "You called me _Master._"

My mouth dropped and my mind blanked – I remembered panicking, being afraid, falling into memories – I had no explanation, no excuse ready to sway him away from me -

His fist slammed the wall beside me and I shrieked, covering my face. "_Hawke_."

"I'm _sorry_." I stood, leaning heavily against the wall, crying, trying not to collapse again, fighting the memories, _fighting -_

"Stay with me, Hawke," Fenris commanded, sounding so close to me. Tears slipped through the cracks of my fingers. "Tell me why."

"I don't – I don't _know_." My voice crackled. "It doesn't matter."

"No," he said angrily, his hot breath hitting my skin. "It _matters_, Hawke. You…why? Help me understand. I need to know. What did that stone do to you? What aren't you telling us?"

I cried harder, wanting to sink, my knees were so weak – but I wouldn't give in again, I wouldn't leave Fenris here to watch me fall apart – he would _leave_ again -

He grew frustrated at my lack of answers. A few minutes passed as he patiently waited for me to collect myself. I grew brave enough to drop my hands and gasped when I saw he was _so close_, his face only inches from mine.

Fenris looked me in the eyes, watched a staggered tear race down my cheek to my neck.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, voice quiet.

"I'm not," I lied, sniffling.

"Don't lie to me." He touched my face, his other hand firmly against the wall beside my head, keeping me trapped. His thumb swiped away a wet trail on my cheek and I leaned into his touch. "You're trembling."

"I'm not afraid of you." My voice sounded stronger.

His hand fell from the wall and he grasped my hand, the points of his claws scratching lightly against my bare skin.

"Can I kiss you?"

I looked from our hands to his face, where he watched me carefully. I was surprised that he'd asked, instead of just kissing me.

_It's not like I would say no… would I?_

I nodded.

"Do you _want_ me to kiss you?"

I wondered why he was asking me, getting so much reassurance – it couldn't be that he was timid and _needed_ the reassurance -

Then it clicked: he wasn't doing it for _him_. He was doing it for _me_.

He wanted to make doubly sure that doing this what _I_ wanted, and not just what he wanted – because he knew that I subconsciously called him _Master _and was doing everything in his power to shake that image instead of just _taking_ like Danarius would.

I nodded, slower this time.

He moved closer; his lips almost touched mine. I stopped breathing.

"Are you frightened?" His voice came out in a whisper; his nose brushed mine.

After a long pause, I nodded, feeling tears welling up again.

_Weak._

"Of me?"

I nodded again, looking down, away from him. His hand captured my chin and brought my face back up.

"Why?"

I looked away, his hand dropped.

"Look at me, please," he begged. I complied; his eyebrows were drawn, furrowed, with a deep crease between them. "Why are you afraid of me?"

"Because…you can be frightening." I barely made any noise with my reply; my back grew cold, pressed against the stone wall, cowering away from him.

His mouth quirked into a smile for a moment before his expression became drawn again. "Don't be afraid. I didn't mean what I said before in the caves. I'm sorry if I hurt you – I was upset, I didn't realize…"

_I understand_, I wanted to say, but my throat closed, gagging me.

"My life has taught me that mages are evil, yet your example doesn't match anything that I have learned – it is different for me to reconcile the idea of you being a mage and also my…_friend._ You shouldn't fear me, Hawke."

I knew that I had hurt him, accidentally referring to him as _Master_. I knew there was little else in the world that I could call him and wound him as much; sorrowful and wound tight, I could do nothing but look him in the eyes and try to make him understand my regret at not being able to be forthcoming just yet.

It was too hard to think about – and I knew there was a possibility that he might hate me if I told him the truth, and I couldn't face that.

"If there was anyone in the world worth protecting, it would be you," he said, leaning in and kissing me after the words left his mouth.

I didn't understand, even as his lips met mind – I didn't understand why I was worth protecting, worth suffering for – because I knew he suffered. He'd told me that touch stimulated the markings and pained him, yet he endured for my touch.

It made his kisses so much more treasured, more _important._

Another tear slipped down my cheek as my eyes closed and my mouth opened to his, his hand cupping my neck, a pointed finger glancing my earlobe and causing a shiver to race down my spine.

My knees weakened but he held me close, pinning me between the wall and his chest, the metal plate digging into my skin. I smelled stale wine and earth mingled with his skin and the scent of oiled leather and I _knew._

I knew that he needed me here, with him, in his arms. I didn't want to run away again, to retreat into my mind and leave him here, alone. He needed someone with him – I knew he deserved to hear the truth, I knew he needed the embraces, even if they hurt him – he needed the new memories we could build together; he needed _someone_ to love him like I could.

And I _could_. The Maker had carefully embossed the design into the flesh of my soul, molding me with the type of caring that would send me through hell just to learn what he needed me to know.

I thought, as his tongue pressed between my lips, that perhaps the Maker had made him with as much care for me in mind – maybe, in going back in time to become what Fenris needed, he had become what I needed just as much; instead of just taking and _taking_ like everyone else did, Fenris understood that I needed someone _here,_ _giving_ to me instead of stripping me of everything I was and demanding things.

_A _master_, Fenris is not,_ I thought.

I wondered if he could ever care for me in the way that I cared for him, and if he realized more than I thought he did – if he had a rough idea of what I had endured through the enchanted stone.

He finally pulled back from me without putting any distance at all between our bodies; our breath collided haphazardly between us as we tried to calm ourselves.

"I'm sorry." He rested his forehead against mine. "For frightening you. For leaving – last night, and that night…"

I closed my eyes, remembering the feeling of waking up, alone in my sheets, feeling used and abandoned.

"It's frightening," I said, voice catching, "to think that it's so easy to be dominated by another person."

Fenris' brow furrowed again. I wanted to rub the crease out with my fingers, but they were numbed.

"I'm afraid." I swallowed away the doubt, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'm afraid that you'll hurt me, but I can't turn you away."

How many times had I referred to the past Fenris as being "mine"? It was as if I willingly sacrificed what little freedom I had earned to Fenris – but I knew I would gladly give it to him.

"I won't ask you," I said haltingly, "to give me your freedom or sacrifice any part of yourself for me. I feel like…I've taken enough of you already."

"Is that what you see this as?" His eyes narrowed. "That I'm giving up my freedom to be with you?"

"I – I don't want –"

"I'm here because I _want_ to be," Fenris growled. "Not because I feel like I owe you anything. Nor you, me. I won't leave, Hawke. We've both done enough running away from this."

I pressed my lips together and blinked away fresh tears. _Love is a cage_, I thought.

I knew that Fenris had the key to my cage – and it would never be returned to me, no matter what he said.

"Can we start over?" Fenris' hand rested at my waist. "We can replace the drunken mistakes of the past."

"No," I said immediately. We couldn't replace the encounter that made him run – or the encounters that made me literally run. "Nothing can replace the past, Fenris."

His head drooped; I leaned forward and timidly met his lips with my own. I took a deep breath.

"We can do nothing but move forward," I said, leaning my head against his collar.

I took a step to the side, my hand capturing his. He followed me as I took him to the stairs.

"Come with me?" I asked, my voice breathless.

He followed me up the stairs silently; when we reached my bedroom, I kicked the door shut and untied my robe at my waist, letting it fall open. Fenris inhaled and unbuckled his gauntlets, dropping them one after another on the floor as I walked around him, dropping my robe and stripping off my under tunic.

I wore nothing but smalls when I crawled onto my bed and waited for him; my heart beat frantically as I thought of what we were doing, that he was here, with me – that he could possibly care for me as much as I cared for him.

He abandoned his armor and removed his jerkin; my eyes scoured his flesh, the strings of lyrium that I had never studied before, the beautiful swooping patterns and dots that decorated his skin.

He smirked, noticing my unabashed staring. He removed his lower jerkin to reveal that he wore no smalls at all – I blushed and laughed.

"What?" he growled, approaching my bed.

"I was just thinking." He knelt on the bed, grabbed my foot and pulled me towards him. I gasped at the sudden movement.

"Of?"

"How I would need to tell Isabela later that you really _don't_ wear smalls." I giggled when he rolled his eyes. He leaned over me, pressing his chest against mine, letting his weight settle over me, his hardness pressing into my thigh.

My chest constricted; I tried to dampen the feelings of being trapped and powerless.

_This is Fenris_, I reminded myself, closing my eyes to try and block out the rising panic.

He seemed to sense my discomfort; he rolled over, pulling me on top of him, letting my chest fall against his. I breathed easier, the invisible bindings on my chest loosening.

"Thank you," I whispered, my head falling to kiss his chest.

Fenris rumbled low in his throat as a reply – I felt the vibrations with my lips.

He pulled me up, bringing me face to face with him again. I stared down at him, the ends of my hair glancing his cheek.

_So, you've never…?_

I swallowed, remembering his first time with me – his first willing time at all – I had been stupid and selfish, just taking from him without ever trying to imagine what he wanted.

There was still so much between us; things that couldn't be said, things we weren't ready to face.

But tonight, we would be content to be _us_.

I leaned back and pressed against his erection; he grasped my hips, pushing up against me.

I wondered if I would ever have wanted to start over with him – if I would do it all again, just to get to this moment.

Locking eyes with him, my answer came: _yes_.

I would suffer a hundred deaths, a thousand punishments if it would benefit him; I wondered if, perhaps, he would say the same for me. He sat up, situating me on his lap, letting me lead our advancements. I appreciated him giving me control so easily.

I couldn't hold off anymore; the aching in my sex begged for release. I pulled my smalls aside and let Fenris guide himself into me; I gasped as he slid home, feeling full and heated, my skin flushed.

Fenris kissed my neck, moving my hips with his hands; my fingers mindlessly traced the lyrium lines decorating his back, the shallow grooves passing beneath my skin.

"Mmm," he hummed, pressing his nose against my jaw. "Isn't this much better when you're not in a stupor from drink?"

I gasped out a laugh.

_It's much better knowing that this is real._

One hand left my hip to touch me where we joined; he thrust up into me, hitting deep with each gyration of our hips – I was gone too quickly, my head thrust back, my lips open in a nearly silent cry as Fenris pressed his sweaty forehead into my chest, emptying himself into me.

We came down, catching our breaths, my arms linking around his neck. He indulged me, holding me close, resting his head in the crook of my neck.

I didn't want him to leave – I latched tightly to him in a brief flicker of fear, but Fenris made it perfectly clear he had no intentions of going anywhere.

The fire roared merrily, having been lit and fed by Bodahn a while before in preparation of my retiring to bed; Fenris sank against my pillows, letting me fall to his side, still clutching my arms around his neck.

"Hawke," he said gently, his hand running over my bare back. "I'm not going anywhere."

I bit my lip, withdrawing my arms slowly, not wanting to make him feel crowded. He replied by wrapping his arms back around me, tugging me closer.

"Fenris." My lips moved against the lines on his neck. "I'm sorry."

_That I pressured you before._

_That I can't tell you everything._

_That I tried to change you._

"I know." I felt his lips curve against the skin of my temple. "Marian."

My heart stuttered; I curled further against him, not wanting him to see the dagger he had just thrown into my heart.

**-C-**

It seemed fitting that the first night I slept peacefully in my bed was the night Fenris stayed with me. His arms were warm, wrapped around me, his breathing even.

I awoke with the birds, as the sun rose, feeling more rested and comfortable than I had in weeks. The fire was on its last legs, barely giving off any light at all – I rose slowly, trying not to wake Fenris.

I wanted to touch his sleeping face, trace the markings on his naked skin, but I refrained, lest I wake him.

Knowing exactly what I wanted to do that morning, I threw on my robe – leaving my tunic on the floor – and happily traipsed down the stairs, tying my robe together to preserve my modesty (and protect the eyes of those living in my home) as I went.

I went to work immediately, mixing my ingredients into a bowl. The process took the better half of an hour, between grinding the flour down to a fine powder and getting everything mixed with the right spices.

I poured my mixture into a pan and went back to work to make a buttery icing for my cake, taste testing a little more often than was necessary.

The kitchen permeated with the smell of heaven when the door cracked open, bearing a confused and fully-armored Fenris.

Frowning and a bit disappointed, I perked up when he entered.

"What are you doing?" he asked, squinting through the morning light streaming in the windows.

"Baking you a cake," I said, dipping my finger in frosting. "Want to taste test?"

"Why?" Fenris looked confused.

"So you can tell me if it tastes right."

"No, I meant why are you baking me a cake?" he asked, amused.

I left my bowl and spoon, walking over to him with my finger raised, beholding the bit of frosting on the tip.

"Because I've always wanted to," I confessed, smiling at him.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't question the declaration. "I've never had cake," he mused, looking at the oven.

I nearly broke down crying right before him at his statement; it completely ruined my mood. I dropped my finger and backed away from him before he could see the heavy weight he had dropped on my chest.

_Another coincidence_.

Fenris' lack of enjoyment in his life exhausted me; he would say things like that and suddenly happy memories of me sharing cake with my family on name days would become foolish squandering of wealth, shaming me. It hurt me to think that Fenris had missed out on _so much_ in his life, that he didn't even remember his family – his sister, whom he was so fond of -

I covered my eyes with my free hand not dipped in frosting.

Fenris cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to ask you if you would stop trying to clean my mansion behind my back."

"No," I said quickly, with confidence.

"Why not?" he asked, growing cross at my obstinate response.

"Because I want to do that for you." I leaned my back against my kitchen counter. Fenris huffed.

"I don't want you cleaning my house." His eyes narrowed angrily. "It isn't your responsibility."

"I never said it was. I just said that I wanted to clean it."

"I'm saying 'no'," Fenris said, his voice rising, making me flinch. "I will not have you cleaning my house like some groveling _slave_."

I shrunk, feeling small before his anger. I felt like I had broken the rules – that I had given the master back talk – and I startled myself when those words came to mind.

I realized he didn't want to feel like he was my master – that he still felt upset over my utterance of "_domine_" the other night, that it was far too close to home for either of us to be okay with. I also didn't want him to be angry with me, a part of me still disquieted at the thought.

"Okay," I said quietly, staring at the floor.

Fenris groaned. "_Hawke_."

I didn't look up; I heard him pace the floor for a moment, coming closer to me – but then he backed away again, walking out of the kitchen and out of my front door.

I wiped my finger on a rag and pulled the cake from the oven; I tossed the cake and the pan directly into the trash.

Too late, I wondered at what he had said to me the night before – _domine._

I'd never before heard that word in my entire life.

_A side effect of the magic?_

* * *

><p><strong>Hopefully everyone missed the unintentional Star Wars reference in there. –shifty eyes-<strong>


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